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SPEED TFIE PLOUGH; 

A COMEDY, 

IN FIVE acts; 

AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVEKT 
<SARDEN, AND AT THE NEW-THEATRE, PHILADELPHIA. 

BY THOMAS MORTON, ESQ, 



PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MA:TA©ER|> 
J-ROM THE PROMPT BOOK. 



WITH REMARKS, 

SY MRS. INCHBALD. 



PHILADELPHIA, 

PRINTED FOR MATHEW CAREY, 
6V T. & G. PALMER, 116, HICW STREET. 



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REMARKS, 



THIS comedy excites that sensation, which is 
the best security for the success of a drama — curiosity. 
Af:er the two first acts are over, and pleasanth' over, 
-with ihe excellent drawn characters of Ashfield and 
liis wife, and the very just satire which arises from 
sir Abel's propensity to modern improvements, the acts 
that follow excite deep interest and ardent expecta- 
tion ; both of which are so highly gratified at the con- 
clusion of the play, that, from the fi^ st night of its per- 
formance, it has ranked among the best of the author's 
productions, and in the first class of modern comedies. 

The various characters of this play are admirably 
designed, but not so happily finished as the author 
meant them to be : witness, Bob Handy, who begins a 
self-conceited coxcomb, and ends a tragedy confidant. 

But the good intentions of an author are acceptable : 
execution will not always follow conception ; and the 
last may often give as much instruction, though not 
equal delight with the former : as an instance, who 
does not see the folly of a.ttempting to do every thing in 
Handy, though he is more the shadow than the sub* 
stance of a character. 

Notwithstanding there are some parts, not so good as 
others, in this comedy, there is no one character superior 
to the rest, nor any one in particular, which makes a 
forcible impression on the memory : this proves (in 
consequence of the acknowledged merit of the play). 



4 REMARKS. 

the fable to be a good one, and that a pleasing combina- 
tion has been studied and tfftcted by the author, witli 
infinite skill, however incompetent to his own brilliant 
im.iginatinn. 

The plot, and serious characters of this comedy, ar© 
said to be taken from a play of Kotzebue's, called, 
*' The Duke of Burgundy." If they are, Mr. Morton's 
ingenuity of adapting them to our stage has been equal 
to the merit he would have had in conceiving them ; 
for that very play called, '^ The Duke of Burgundy,'* 
by some verbal translator, was condemned or with- 
drawn at Covent Giiden Theatre, not very long be- 
fore " Speed ihe Plough" was received with the high- 
est marks of admiration. 

The characters i)f sir Philip Blandford, his brother, 
and his nephew, may have been imported from Germa- 
ny, but, surt-ly, all rhe other personages of the drama 
are f pure English growth. 

The reception of this play, when first performed, and 
the high station it still holds in the public opinion, 
should make criticism cautious of attack ; but as works 
of genunie art alone are held worthy of investigation, 
and as all examinations tend to produce a degree of 
ceohuve, as well as of praise, *' Speed the Plough" is 
not exempt from the general lot of every favourite pro- 
duction. 

An auditor will be much better pleased with this 
play, than a reader; for though it is well written, and 
interspersed with man* poeiical passages, an attentive 
peruser will find inconsistencies in the arrangement of 
the plot and incidents, which an audience, absorbed m 
expectation < f final events, and hurried away by the 
charm of scenic interest, cannot easily detect. 

I'he most prominent of these blemishes are : Miss 
Blandford falls in love with a plough-boy at first-sight, 
•which she certainly would not have done, but thatiiome 
preternatural agent whispered to her, he was a young 
man of birth. But whether this magical information 
Giame from the palpitation of her heart, or the quick" 



REMARKS. 5 

ness of her eye^ she has not said. A reader will, how- 
ever, gladly iinpute the cause of her sudden passion to 
nia^ic, rather than to the want of female refinement. 

The daughter has not less decorum in love, than the 
father in murder. That a character, grave and stern, 
as sir Philip Blandford is described, should entrust any 
man, especially such a man as Bob Handy, with a se- 
cret, on which, not only his reputation, but his life de- 
pended, can upon no principle of reason be accounted 
for; unless the author took into consideration, what has 
sometimes been observed, that a murderer, in contri- 
vance *.o conceal his guilt, foolishly fixes on the very 
means which bruigs him to conviction. 



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SPEED THE PLOUGH. 



ACT THE FIRST. 

SCENE I. 

'In the fore ground a farm house. — A view of a castle 
at a distance. 

Farmer Ashfield discovered at a table y with his. 
ju^ and Jii/ie. 

Mnter Dabie Ashfield, in a riding dress ^ and a 
l?asket under her arm. 

Ash, Well, dame, welcome whoara. What news 
does thee bring vrom market I 

Dame. What news, husband ? What I always told 
you ; that farmer Grundy's wheat brought five shiUings 
a quarter more than ours did. 

Ash. All the better vor he. 

Dame. Ah I the sun seems to shine on purpose for 
him. 

Ash, Come, come, missus, as thee hast not the grace 
to thank God for prosperous times, dan't thee grumble 
when they be unkindly a bit. 

Dame. And I assure you, dame Grundy's butter was 
quite the crack of the market. 

Ash. Be quiet, woolye ? always ding, dinging dame 
Grundy into my ears. What will Mrs. Grundy zay ? 
what will Mrs. Grundy think ? Canst thee be quiet^ 
let ur alone, and behave thyzel pratty ? 



8 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Dame, Certainly I can. V\\ tell thee> Turn mas, 
what she said at church last Sunday. 

Ash Canst thee tell vvhat parson zaid? Noa. Then 
I'll tell thee. A' zaid that envy were as foul a weed as 
grows, and cankers all wholesome plants that be near 
it ; that's what a' zaid. 

Dame, And do you think I envy Mrs. Grundy in- 
deed ? 

Ash. Why dant thee letten her aloane then. I do 
verily think when thee goest to t'other world, the vurst 
question thee ax 'il be, if Mrs. Grundy's there Zoa 
be quiet, and behave pratty, do'ye. Has the brought 
whoam the Salisbury news ? 

Dame. No, Tumraas: but I liave brought a rare 
wadget of news with me. First and foremost I savy 
such a mort of coaches, servants, and waggons, all be* 
longing to sir Abel Handy, and all coming to the cas-* 
tie ; and a handsome young man, dressed all in lace, 
pulled off his hat to me, and said, " Mrs. Ashfield, do 
me the honour of presenting that letter to your hus* 
band." So there he stood without his hat. Oh, Turn- 
mas, had you seen how Mrs. Grundy looked ! 

Ash. Dom Mrs. Grundy. Be quiet, and let I read, 
wcolye? \^Reads,'\ " My dear farmer" [Taking off his 
hat.l Thankye zur ; zame to you, wi' all my heart 
and soul — " My dear farmer" — 

Dame- Farmer ! Why, you are blind, Tummas, it 
is " My dear father.'^ 'Tis from our own dear Susan. 

Ash, Odds dickens and daizeys ! zoo it be, zure 
enow ! " My dear feyther^l^ou will be surprized" — 
Zoo I be, he, he ! What pretty writing, bean't it ? all 

as straight as thof it were ploughed ** Surprised to 

hear, that in a few hours I shall embrace you. Nelly, 
who was formerly our servant, has fortunately .married 
sir Abel Handy Bart." 

Dame. Handy Bart. Pugh I Bart, stands for baro- 
night, mun. 

Ash. Likely, likely. Drabbit it, only to think of the 
zwaps and changes of this world. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. ^ 

Dame. Our Nelly married to a great baronet ! I 
wonder, Tummas, what Mrs. Grundy will sa) I 

j^sh Now, woolye be quiet, and let I read. *' And 
she has proposed bringing nae to see you ; an offer, I 
hope, as acceptable to my dear feyther" 

Dame. " And mother" 

Ash. Bless her, how prettily she do write feyther, 
dan't she. 

Dame, And mother. 

Ash, Ees, but fey ther first, though — — " As accepta- 
ble to my dear feyther and mother, as to their affec- 
tionate daugliter, Susan Ashfield." Now bean't that a 
pratty letter ? 

Dame. And, Tummas, is not she a pretty girl l 

A>ih. Ees; and as good as she^ be pratty. DiabbiU 
it, 1 do feel Z'. o happy, and zoo warm : for all the world 
like the zun in harvest. 

Dame. Oh, TumnMts, I shall be so pleased to see 
her, 1 shan't know #litther I stand on my head or ray- 
heels. 

Ash. Stand on thy head ! vor sheame o' thyzel, be- 
have pratty, do. 

Dame. Nay, I meant no harm. Eh, here comes 
friend Evergreen the gariener, from the castle. Bless 
Hie, what a hurry the old man is in. 

Enter Evergreek. 

Everg. Good day, honest Thomas. 

Ash. Zame to you, measter Evergreen. 

Everg'. Have you heard the news ? 

Dame. Any thing about Mrs. Grundy ? 

Ash. Dame, be quiet, woolye now ? 

Everg. No, no. The news is, that my master, Sir 
Philip Biandford, after having been abroad for twenty- 
years, returns this day to the castle ; and that the rea- 
son of his corning is, to marry his only d.-ughter to the 
tpa of sir Abel Handy, I think they call liim. 



10 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Dame. As sure as two-pence that is Nelly's hus<* 
band. 

Everg, Indeed! Well, sir Abel and his son will 
be here immediately ; and, farmer, you must attend 
them. 

jlsh. Likely, likely. 

Everg. And, mistress, come and lend us a hand at 
the castle, will you ? Ah, it is twenty long years since I 
have seen sir Philip. Poor gentleman ! bad, bad 
health ; worn almost to the grave, 1 am told. What a 
lad do I remember him ; till that dreadful — [^Checking 
himself.'] But where is Henrv ? I must see him ; must 
caution him — \A gun is discharged at a distance^ 
That's his gun, I suppose ; he is not far then. Poor 
Henry ! 

Dame, Poor Henry ! I like that indeed i What 
though he be nobody knows wh^ there is not a girl in 
the parish that is not ready lib pull caps for him. 
The miss Grundys, geenteel asllfcy think themselves, 
would he glad to snap at him. If he were our own,^ 
.we could not love him better. 

Everg, And he deserves to be loved. Why, he's 
as handsome as a peach tree in blossom : and hi& 
mind is as free from weeds as my favourite carnation 
bed. But, Thomas, run to the castle, and receive sir 
Abel and his son. 

Ash, I wool, I wool. Zo, good day, [^Bo^ving.l Let 
every man make his bow, and behave pratty ; that's 
what I say. Missus, do'ye show un Sue's letter, wool- 
ye ? Do ye letten see how pratty she do write fey the r. 

lExit. 
Dame.' Now Tummas is gone. Pll tell you such a 
-.Story about Mrs. Grundy. But come, step in, you 
must needs be weary ; and I am sure a mug of har- 
vest beer, sweetened with a hearty welcome, will re- 
fresh you. [^Exeunt into the honse^ 



SPEED THE PLOUGH, IS 

SCENE IT. 

Outside and gate of the castle. — Servants cress the 
stage^ laden with different packages. 

Enter Ashfield. 

Ash, Drabbit it, the v/old castle 'ul be hardly big 
€now to hold all thic lumber. 

Sir Abel Handy, [ WithoutJ\ Gently there ! mind 
how you go, Robin. [A crash» 

Ash, Who do come here ? A do zeem a comical 
zoart ov a man. Oh, Abel Handy, I suppoze. 

Eyiter ^I'Si x\bel Handy, ^kkyai/it following. 

Sir Abel, Zounds and fury ! you have killed the 
whole county, you dog I for you have broke the patent 
medicine chest, that was to keep them all alive. Rich- 
ard, gently I take care of the grand Archimedian cork- 
screws 1 Bless my soul ! so much to think of \ Such, 
wonderful inventions in conception, in concoction, and 
in completion ! 

Enter Peter. 

Well, Peter, is the carriage much broke ? 

Peter, Smashed all to pieces. I thought as how, 
sir, that your infallible axletree would give way. 

Sir Abel, Confound it, it has compelled me to walk 
so far in the wet, that I declare my water-proof shoes 
are completely soaked through. lExit Peter.] Now 
to take a view with my new invented glass ! 

IFulis out his glass. 

Ash, [Loud and bluntly.'] Zarvent, zur I zarvent I 

Sir Abel. [Starting.] What's that: Oh, good day, 
— Devil take the fellow I [Aside. 

Ash. Thankye, zur ; zame to you with all my heart 
and zoul. 

Sir Abel. Pray, friend, could you contrive gently ta 
inform me, where I can find one farmer Ashfield. 



12 SPEED THE PLOUGH, 

Ash. Ha, ha, ha! \^Laughing loudly. 1 Excuse VdY 
tittering a bit ; but your axing mvzel for I be sr> 
domm'd zilly [bowing and laughing]. Ah, you stare 
at I beceas 1 be bashful and daunted. 

Sir AbeL You are very bashful to be sure. I declare 
I'm quite weary. 

Ash. If you'll walk into the castle, you may zit down, 
I dare zay. 

Sir Abd. May I indeed? you are a fellow of extra- 
ordinary cirility. 

Ash. There's no denying it, zur. 

Sir AbeL No, I'll sit here. 

Ash. What on the ground ! Why you'll wring your 
ould withers — 

Sir Abel. On the ground ; no, 1 always carry vc^^ 
seat with me. \_Sjireadsa small camp, chair.] Here I'll 
sit and examine the surveyor's account of the castle. 

Ash. Dickens and daizey's ! what a gentleman you 
would be to show at a vair! 

Sir Abel. Silence, fellow, and attend — " An account 
of the castle and domain of Sir Philip Blandford. in- 
tended to be settled as a marriage portion on his daugh- 
ter, and the son of Sir Abel Handy, — bv Frank Flou- 
rish, surveyor. Imprimis : the premises command an 
exquisite view of the Isle of Wight." — Charming ! de- 
lightful ! I don't see it though. [Rising.] I'll try with 
iTjy new glass ; my own invention. \_H€ looks through 
the glass.] Yes, there I caught it. Ah ! now I see it 
plainly. Eh ! no ; I don't see it ; do you ? 

Ash. Noa, zur, I doant ; but little Zweepy do tell I he 
can zee a bit out from the top of the chimbley — zoa, an 
you've a mind to ct^iwl up you may zee un too, he, he * 

Sir AbeL Thank you — but damn your titter. 
IReads]-^'' Fish ponds well stocked"— That's a good 
thing, farmer. 

Ash. Likely, likely— but I doant think the vishes 
do thrive much in theas ponds. 

SirMeL No 1 why? 

Ash, Why, the ponds be always dry i'the zunimer ; 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 13 

and I be tould that bean't wholesome for the little vishes. 

Siv Abel. Not very, I believe. Well said surveyor ! 
*^ A cool summer house." 

Ash, Ees, zur, quite cool : by reason the roof be 
tumbled in. 

Sir Abel, Better and better ; " the whole capable 
ef the greatest improvement." Come, that seems true 
however, I shall have plenty to do, that's one comfort, 
I have such contrivances I Til have a canal run througli 
my kitchen. I must give this rustic some idea of my 
consequence. [Adde.'\ You must know, farmer, yoa 
have the honour of conversing with a man, who has ob- 
tained patents for tweezers, tooth-picks, and tinder box- 
es ; to a philosopher, who has been consulted on the 
Wapping docks and the Gravesend tunnel ; and who 
has now in hand two inventions which will render hira 
immortal: the one is, converting saw dust into deal 
boards, and the other is, a plan of cleaning rooms by a 
steam engine ; and, farmer, 1 mean to give prizes for 
industry : I'll have a ploughing match. 

Ash. Will you, zur ? 

Sir Abel. Yes; for I consider a healthy young man, 
between the handles of a plough, as one of the noblest 
illustrations of the prosperity of Britain. 

AhIu Faith and troth ! there be some lightish hands 
in theas parts, 1 promize ye. 

Sir Abel. And, farmer, it shall precede the hymene-* 
al fesiiviiies 

Ash, Nan \ 

Sir Abel- Blockhead ! The ploughing match shall 
take place as soon as sir Philip Blandford aad his daugh- 
ter arrive. 

Auu Oh, likely, likely. 

^Tz^^r Servant. 

Serv. Sir Abel, I beg to say, my master will be here 

immt'diateiy. 

Sir Abel, And; sir^ I beg to ask who possei^ses the 



14 St»EED THE PLOUGH. 

happiness of being your master ? 

Serv, Your son, sir, Mr. Robert Handy. 

Sir Abel. Indeed ! and where is Bob ? 

Serv. I left hinn, sir, in the belfrey of the church. 

Sir Abel Where ? 

Serv In the belfrey of the church. 

Sir Abel. In the belfrey of the church ! What was 
he doing there ? 

Serv. Why, sir, the natives were ringing a peal in 
honour of our arrival ; when my master, finding they 
knew nothing of the matter^ went op to the steeple to in- 
struct them, and ordered me to proceed to the castle. 
Give me leave, Sir Abel, to take this out of your way* 

\Takes the camp, chair. 1 Sir, I have the honour 

\^Boivs and Rxit^ 

Sir Abel. Wonderful ! My Bob, you must know, is 
an astonishing fellow I you' have heard of the admirable 
Crichtori^ may be I Bob's of the same kidney I I con- 
trive, he executes. Sir Abel i?ivemt^ Bobjecit, He 
can do every thing ; every thing I 

Ash. All the better vor he. I zay, zur, as he can 
turn his head to every thing, pray, in what way med he 
€arn his livelihood ? 

Sir Abel. Earn his livelihood t 

Ash. Ees, zur ; how do he gain his bread ! 

Sir Abel. Bread ! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless 
you ! he's a genius. 

Ash. Genius 1 Drabblt it, I have got a horze o'thiG 
name, but dom'un, he'll never work, never. 

Sir Abel. Egad ; here comes my boy Bob ? Eh I no ; 
it is not I no. 

Enter Postboy, Tjith a round hat and cane. 

Why, who the devil are you ? 

Postb, 1 am the postboy, your honour, but the gem- 
man sa,id I did not know how to drive, so he mounted 
my horse, and made me^ get inside. Here he is. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 15 

Enter Handy, jun. nvith a fiostboy^s ca/i and nvhifi. 

Handy, jun. Ah, my old Dad, is that you ? 

Sir Abel. Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be 
you ? 

Handy^jun. Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive. 
Nothing is so horrible as people pretending to do what 
they are unequal to. Give ine my hat. That's the way 
to use a whip. 

Postb, Sir, you know you have broke the horses* 
knees all to pieces. 

Handy ^ jun. Hush, there's a guinea. [Afiart. 

Sir Abel. [7b Ashfikld.] You see, Bob cun do 
every thing. But, sir, when you knew I had arrived 
from GeriDany, why did you not pay your duty to me 
in London \ 

Handy ^ jun. Sir, I heard you were but four daya 
married, and I would not interrupt your honev-moon. 

Sir AbeL Four days ! oh, you might have come. 

IS.ghing. 

Handy^jun. I hear you have taken eo your arms a 
simple rustic, unsophisticated by fashionable foilies ; dt 
full blown blossom of nature* 

Sir Abel Yes I 

Handy ^ jun. How does it answer I 

Sir Abel. So, so ! 

Handy, jun. Any thorns? 

Sir Abel. A few. 

Handy, jun. I must be introduced. Where is she ? 

Sir Abel. Not within thirty miles ; fqr 1 don't hear 
lier. 

Ash Ha, ha, ha I 

Handy ^ jun. Who is that ? 

Sir Abel. Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of 
mine. 

Ash. Zarvent, zur. No offence, I do hope. Could 
not help tittering a bit at Nelly. When she were zar- 
vent maid wi' 1, she had a tightish prattle wi' herj 
that's vor zartain. 



U SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Handy^jun. Oh ! so then my honoured mamma was 
the servant of this tittering gentleman. I say, father, 
perhaps she has not lost the tightish prattle he speaks of. 

Sir AbeL My dear boy, come here. Prattle I I say, 
did you ever Uve next door to a pewterer's ? that all: you 
understand me ; did you ever hear a dozen fire engines 
full gallop \ Were you ever at Billingsgate in the 
sprat season ? or 

Handy , jiin, Ha.^ h2L \ 

Sir Abel Nay, don't laugh, Bob. 

Handy, jun. Indeed, sir* you think of it too seriously. 
The storm, I dare say, soon blows over. 

Sir Abel SoonI you know what a trade wind is, don't 
you, Bob ? why, she thinks no more of the latter end of 
her speech, than she does of the latter end of her life— 

Handy ^jiin. Ha! ha! 

Sir Abel. But I won't be laughed at. I'll knock any 
man down that laughs ' Bob, if you can say any thing 
pleasant, I'll trouble you ; if not, do what my wife can't, 
hold your tongue. 

Handy, jun I'll shew you what I can do — I'll amuse 
you with this native. {^Aparf. 

Sir Abel Do ; do ; quiz him ; at him, Bob. 

Handy, jun. I say, farmer, you are a set of jolly fel- 
lows here, an't you ? 

Ash. Ees, zur, deadly jolly ; excepting when we be 
otherwise, and then we bean't. 

Handy^jun. Play at cricket, don't you ? 

Ash. Ees, zur ; we Hampshire lads conceat we can 
bowl a bit or thereabouts. 

Handy ^jun. And cudgel too, I suppose ? 

Sir Abel. At him, Bob. 

Ash Ees, zur, we sometimes break oon another's 
heads, by way of being agreeable, and the like o'that. 

handy, jun Understand all the guards? [^Putting him* 
^elfin an attitude of cudgelling, 'I 

Ash Can't zay I do, zur. 

Handy ^ jun. What 1 hit in this way, eh? {makcH &- 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 17 

^iit at AsHFiELD, nvhich he parries^ a?id hits young' 
Ha n dy violent lij.'] 

A%h. Noa, zuv, we do hit thic way. 

Handijy jun. Zounds and fury ! 

Sir Met' Why, Bob, he has broke your head. 

Handy ^ jun. Yes ; he rather hit me ; he some- 
how 

Sir Abels He did indeed, Bob. 

Handy ^ jun. Damn him. The fact is, I am out of 
practice. 

Ash. You need not be, zur ; Pll gi' ye a belly full any 
day, wi' all my heart and soul. 

Handy^ jun. No, no, thank you. Farmer, what's 
your name l 

Ash. My name be Tummas Ashfield ; any thing ta 
say against my name? [Threat enitig, 

Handy^ jun. No, no. Ashfield ! should he be the 
father of my pretty Susan. Pray have you a daughter I 

Ash. Ees, I have ; any thing to zay against she ? 

Handy ^ jun. No no ; I think her a charming crea- 
ture. 

Ash. Do ye, faith and troth ; come, that be deadly 
kind o'ye, however. Do you zee, I viQ,vt frightful she 
^■ere not agreeable. 

Handy .^ jun. Oh, she's extremely agreeable to me, I 
assure ycu. 

Ash. I vow, it be quite pratty in yc^u to take notice of 
Sue. I do hope, zur, breaking your head will break 
noa squares. She be a coming down to theas parts wi* 
iady our maid Nelly, as wur ; your spouse, zur. 

Jiandy jun. The devil she is ! that's awkward ! 

Ash. I do hope you'll be kind to Sue when she do 
ccme^ wool ye, zur I 

Handy sjun. You may depend on it. 

Sir Abel. 1 dare say you may. Come, farmer, at- 
tend us. 

Ash. Ees, zur ; wi' all respect. Gentlemen, pray 
^^alk thic wav, and I'll v/alk before vou. [Exit. 

B 2 



18 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Sir Mel. Now, that's what he calls behaving prettj-. 
Damn his pretty behaviour. \^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 

A Grove. 

[MoRRiNGTON coiTies dovjti the stage^ nvrapfiedina 
gr at coat j he looks about ; then at his watch^ and 
ivhiatles ; which is answered.'] 

Enter Gerald. 

Mor. Here, Gerald ! Well, my trusty fellow, is sir 

Philip arrived ? • 

Ger. No, sir ; but hourly expected. 
Mor. Tell me, how does the castle look ? 
Ger. Sadly decayed, sir. 
Mor. 1 hope, Gerald, you were not observed. 
Ger. I fear otherwise, sir ; on the skirts of the do- 
main I encountered a stripling with his gun ; but I 
darted into that thicket, and so avoided him. 

[Henry appears in the back ground^ in a shOot^ 
ing dress^ attentively observing them.] 
Mor. Have you gained any intelligence I 
Ger. None : the report that reached us was false ; 
the infant certainly died with its mother. Hush ! con- 
ceal yourself; we are observed ; this way. . 
\_They retreat ; Henry advances. 
Henry. Hold ! as a friend, one word 1 

[They exeunt^ he follows them^ and returns. 
Again they have escaped me. ^^ The infant died with 
its mother. ^^ This agony of doubt is insupportable. 

Enter Evergreen. 

Everg. Henry, well met. 
Henry. Have you seen strangers I 

J^verg. No. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 19 

Henry. Two but now have left this place. They 
spoke of a lost child. My busy fancy led me to think I 
%vas the object of their search. 1 pressed forward, but 
they avoided me. 

Everg. No, no ; it could not be you ; for no one on 
earth knows but mvself and- 

Henry. Who ? Sir Philip Blandford ? 

Everg. I am sworn, you know, my dear boy ; I am 
solemnly sworn to silence. 

Henry. True, my good old friend ; and if the know- 
ledge of who I am can only be obtained at the price of 
thy perjury, let me for ever remain ignorant ; let the 
corroding thought still haunt my pillow, cross me at 
every turn, and render me insensible to the blessings of 
health and liberty ; yet, in vain do I suppress the 
thought ; who am 1 ? why thus abandoned ? perhaps 
the despised offspring of guilt. Ah ! is it so ^ 

{^Seizing him violently, 

Everg. Henry, do I deserve this ? 

Henry- Pardon me, good old man I PU act more rea- 
sonably ; PU deem thy silence mercy. 

Everg. That's wisely said. 

Henry. Yet it is hard to think, that the most detested 
reptile that nature forms, or man pursues, has, when 
he gains his den, a parent's pitying breast to shelter in j 
but 1 

Everg. Come, come, no more of this. 

Henry. Well ! 1 visited to-day that young man 

who was so grievously bruised by the breaking of his 
team. • 

Everg. That was kindly done, Henry. 

Henry, I found him suffering under extreme torture, 
yet a ray of joy shot from his languid eye : for his me- 
iilicme was administered by a father's hand ; it was a 
mother's precious tear that dropped upon his wound. 
Oh, hoW I envied him ! 

Evtrg. Still on the same subject. I tell thee, if thou 
art not acknowledged by thy race, v/hy, then, become 



20 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

the noble founder of a new one. Come with me to the 
castle, for the last time. 

Henry. The last time ! 

Everg. Aye. boy ; for, when sir Philip arrives, you 
must avoid him. 

Henry. Not see him ! where exists the power that 
shall prevent me I 

Everg. Henry, if you value your own peace of mind, 
if you value an old man's comfort, avoid the castle. 

Henry. [^Aside.'] I must dissemble with this honest 
creature. Well, I am content. 

Everg. That's right; that's right, Henry. Be but 
thou resigned and virtuous, and He, who clothes the 
lily of the field, will be a parent to thee. \^ExeunU 



ACT THE SECOND. 

SCENE I. 

A Lodge belonging to the Castle, 

Dame Ashjield discovered making lace. 

Enter Handy, jun. 

Handy ^ jun. A singular situation this my old dad 
has placed me in ; brought me here to marry a woman 
of fashion and beauty, while I have been professing, 
and I've a notion feeling, the most ardent love for the 
pretty Susan Ashfield. Propriety says, take Miss 
Blandford. Love says, take Susan. Fashion says, 
take both : but would Susan consent to such an arrange- 
ment ? and if she refused, would I consent to part with 
her ? Oh, time enough to put that question, when the 
previous one is disposed of. {^Seeing Dame.]^ How 
do you do ? How do you do 1 Making lace, I perceive. 
Is it a common employment here ? 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 21 

Dame, Oh, no, sir ! nobody can make it in these 
parts but myself ! Mrs. Grundy, indeed, pretends ; but, 
poor woman I she knows no more of it than you do. 

Handy ^jun. Than I do! that's vastly well. My 
dear madam, I passed two months at Mechlin for the 
express purpose. 

Dame. Indeed ! 

Handy ^jun. You don't do it right ; now I can do it 
niuch better than that. Give me leave, and Pll shew you 
the true Mechlin method. \Turns the cushion roundy 
kneelti doivn^ and begins working.'] First you see, so ; 
Ihen, so — 

Enter Sir Abel, and Miss Blandford. 

Sir Abel I vow, Miss Blandford, fair as I evei* 
thought you, the air of your native land has given 
additional lustre to your charms ! [^Aside.] If my 
wife looked so. Ah ! but where can Bob be ? — You 
must know, miss, my son is a very clever fellow ! you 
5von't find him wasting I'is time in boyish frivolity ' — 
no ; you will find him — \^See8 him* 

Miss B, Is that your son, sir ? 

Sir Abel. [^Abashed.] Yes, that's Bob ! 

Miss B. Pray, sir, is he making lace, or is he mak- 
ing love ? 

Sir Abel. Curse me if I can tell, J[Hits him with hi» 
stick.'] Get up, you dog ! don't you see Miss Bland- 
ford ? 

Handy ^jun. \_S tar ting- ufi] Zounds! how unlucky ! 
Ma'am, your most obedient servant. [^Endravours to 
hide the work.] Curse the cushion ! \_Throws it off. 

Dame. Oh ! he hits spoiled my lace 1 

Handy., jun. Hush ! Pil make you a thousand yards 
anoiher lime. You see, ma'am, I was explaining to 
this good woman — what — what need not be explained 
again. Admirably handsome, by Heaven I [Aside. 

Sir Abel, Is not she, Bob I 



22 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Handij^jun. [T^o Miss B.] In your journfjy from the 
coast, I conclude you took London in your way ? Hush I 

[To Dame* 

Miss B, Oh no sir, I could not so soon venture into 
the beau monde ; a stranger just arrived from Germa- 
ny— 

Handij^jun. The very reason ; the most fashionable 
introduction possible ! but I perceive, sir, you have 
here imitated other German importations, and only re- 
stored to us» our native excellence. 

Miss B. I assure you, sir, I am eager to seize my 
birthright, the pure and envied immunities of an Eng- 
lishwoman ! 

Handy, jun. Then I trust, madam, you will be 
patriot enough to agree with me, that as a nation i» 
poor, whose only wealth is importation, that therefore 
the humble native artist may ever hope to obtain from 
his countrymen those fostermg smiles, without which 
genius must sicken and industry decay. But it requires 
no valet de filace to conduct you through the purlieus of 
fashion, for now the way of the world is, for every one 
to pursue their own way ; and following the fashion is 
differing as much as possible from the rest of your ac- 
quaintance. ' 

Miss B, But, surely sir, there is some distinguishing 
feature, by which the votaries of fashion are known I 

Handy ^jun Yes ; but that varies extremely : some- 
times fashionable celebrity depends on a high waist ; 
sometimes on a low carriage ; sometimes on high play ; 
and sometimes on low breeding ; last winter it restedr 
solely on green peas ! 

Miss B, Green peas ! 

Handy ^ jun. Green peas. That lady was the most 
enchanting, who could bring the greatest quantity of 
green peas to her table at Christmas ! the struggle was 
tremendous ! Mrs. Rowley Powley had the best of it by 
five pecks and a half, but it having been unfortunately 
proved tUat, at her ball there was room to dance and 
eat conveniently j that no lady received a black eye, and 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. f>5 

no coachman was killed, the thing was voted decent 
and comfortable, arn; -scouted accordin::^ly. 

Miss B, Is comfort then incompadble with fashion ? 

Handy ^jun. Certainly !— Comfort in high life would 
be as preposterous as a lawyer's bag crammed with 
truth, or his wig decorated with coquelicot ribbons? 
No ; it IS not comfort and selection that is sought, but 
numbers and confusion ! Srf that a fashionable party re- 
sembles Smithfield market, only a good one when plen- 
tifully stocked ; and ladies are reckoned by the score, 
like sheep, and their husbands by droves, like horned 
=cattle ! 

MisB B. Ha ! ha ! and the conversation — 

Handy, jim. Oh ! like the assembly, confused, vapid^ 
and abundant ; as " How do, ma'aiT» !— no accident at 
^' the door ?— he, he !" — " Only my carriage broke to 
^^ pieces !" — " I hope you had not your pocket picked?'* 
-_" Won't you sit down to faro?" — ^^ Have ynu many 
'^* to-night?"—" A few, about six hundred !" — " Were 
"*' you at lady Overall's ?" — '^ Oh yes ; a delicious 
••'crowd, and plenty of peas, he he l" — and thus runs 
the fashionable race. 

Sir AbeL Yes ; and a precious run it is ; full gallop 
all the way : first they run on ; then their fortune is 
Tun through; then bills are run up; then they are 
^irun hard ; then they've a run of luck ; then they run 
out ; and then they run away ! — But I'll forgive fashion 
^all its follies in consideration of one of its blessed 
laws. 

Handy ^jun. What may that be ? 

Sir AbeL That husband and wife must never be seen 
together. 

Enter Servant. 

Serv, Miss Blandford, your father expects you, 
■MiB8 B. 1 hope I shall find him more coroposedi 
Handy yjun^ Is sir Philip ill ? 



^4 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Miss B. His spirits are extremely depressed, and 
since we arrived here this morning his dejection has 
dreadfully increased. 

Handy ^ jun. But I hope we shall be able to laugh 
away despondency. 

Miss B, Sir, if you are pleased to consider my es- 
teem as an object worth your possession, I know no 
way of obtaining it so certain as by your shewing every 
attention to my dear father. \As they are goin^j 

Enter Ashfield. 

Ash. Dame ! Dame ! she be come ! 
Dame. Who ? Susan ! our dear Susan ? 
Afih. Ees ; zo, come along. Oh, Sir Abel I lady 
Kelly, your snouse, do order you to' go to her direct- 

Handy ^jun. Order ! you mistake — 

Sir Abel. No, he don't ; she generally prefers that 
word. 

Miss B. Adieu ! sir Abel. 

\_Exeu7it Miss Blandford a7id Handy,^^^. 

Sir Abel. Oh ! if my wife had such a pretty way witlt 
her mouth. 

Dame. And how does Susan look ? 

Ash. That's what I do want to know, zoa come along,. 
Woo ye, though. Missus, let's behave pratty. Zur, 
if you please, Dame and I will let you walk along wL* 
us. 

Sir Abel. How condescending 1 Oh, you are a pretty 
behaved fellow I [Exeunt. 

SCENE ir. 

Farmer Ashfield's Kitchen. 

Enter Lady Handy and Susan. 

Susan, My dear home, thrice welcome I What gm*^ 
titude I feel to your ladyship for this indulgence I 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 25 

Lady H, That's right, child ! 

Susa7i, And I am sure you partake my pleasure in 
again visiting a place, where you received every pro- 
tection and kindness my parents could show you, for, I 
remember, while you lived with my father — 

Lady H. Child ! don't put your memory to any fa- 
tigue on my account ; you may transfer the remem- 
brance of who I was, to aid your more perfect recollec- 
tion of who I am. 

Susan. Lady Handy ! 

I.ady H, That's right, child ! I am not angry. 

Susan, [Looking out ."] Ah ! I see my dear father and 
mother coming through the garden. 

Lady H. Oh ! now 1 shall be caressed to death ; but 
I must endure the shock of their attentions. 

Enter Parmer and Dame, ivith Sir Abel. 

Ash, My dear Susan ! [.They run to Susan. 

Dame, My sweet child ! give me a kiss. 

Ash. Hald thee I Feyther first though. Well, I be 
as mortal glad to zee thee as never war. And how be'st 
thee? and how do thee like Lunnun town I it be a dead* 
ly lively place I be tuold. 

Dame. Is not she a sweet girl ? 

Sir Abel That she is. 

Lady H. [ With affected dignity.'] Does it occur t© 
any one present, that Lady Handy is in the room ? 

Sir Abel, Oh, lud ! Pm sure, my dear wife, I never 
forget that you are in the room. 

Ash. Drabbit it ! I overlooked Lady Nelly, sure enow ; 
but consider, there be zome difference between thee 
and our own Susan I I be deadly glad to zee thee, how- 
ever* 

Dame. So am I, Lady Handy. 

Ash, Don't ye take it unkind I han't buss'd thee 
yet } meant no slight indeed. [Kisses her. 

G 



£6 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Lady H. Oh ! shocking I [Aside* 

Ash. No harm I do hope, zur# 

Sir Abel. None at all. 

Ash. But dash it, Lady Nelly, what do make thee 
paint thy vace all over we rud ochre zoo ? Be it vor 
thy spouse to knaw thee ? that be the way I do knaw 
my sheep. 

Sir Abel. The flocks of fashion are all marked so, 
farmer. 

Ash. lAk&\y ! Drabbit it! thee do make a tightish 
kind of a ladyship zure enow. 

Dame. That you do, my lady t you remember th© 
old house ? 

Ash, Aye ; and all about it, doant ye ? Nelly ! my 
lady ! 

Lady H. Oh ! Fm quite shocked. Susan, child J 
prepare a room where I may dress before I proceed to 
the castle. \Exit Su s an, 

Enter Has DY^ jun* 

Handy J jun. I don't see Susan. I say, dad, is that 
Xny mammci ? 

Sir Abel. Yes — speak to her. 

Handy., jun. IChucking her under the chin.'] A fine 
girl, upon my soul ! 

Lady H. Fine girl, indeed ! is this behaviour ! 

Handy ^ jun. Oh ! beg pardon, most honoured pa-* 
rent. \^She curtsies."] That's a damned bad curtsey, I 
can teach you to mdke a much better curtsey than 
that! 

Lady H. You teach me, that am old enough to— ^ 
hem ! 

Handy., jun. Oh ! that toss of the head was very bad 
indeed. Look at me ! That's the thing ' 

Lady H, Am I to be insulted ^ Sir Abel, you know I 
seldom condescend to talk. 

Sir Abel. Don't say »o, my lady, yoa wrong your* 
^If. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 27 

L.ady H. But, when I do begin, you know not where 
It will end 

Sir Abel. Indeed I do not. [Asidb. 

Lady H, I insist on receiving all possible respect 
from \ our son. 

Handy, jun. And you shall have it, my dear girl I 
madam, I :T)ean. 

Lady H I vow, I am agitated to that degree — Sir 
AIh 1 ! mv fan. 

Sir Abel. Yes, my 'dear. Bob, look here, a little 
contrivance of my own. While others carry swords 
and such like dreadful we:^pons in their canes, I n>^re 
gallanth' carry a fan. \^Remov€S the head of his cane^ 
and draws out a fan.'] A pretty thought, isn't it? 
[Presents it to his tady."] 

Ash. Some difference between thic stick nnd mine, 
beam thtre. zur? [7b HakbYs jun, 

■ Handy, jun, iMcz^uig wway.] Yes, there is; [7b 
Lady H^ Do you call lUat tanning yourself .'^ [leaking 
the fan,'] My dear ma'am, this is the way to n>ai.(]eu\ re 
a ran. 

Lady H. Sir, you shall fii)d [7b Handy, jun.] I 
have power enough to make you repent this behaviour, 
»— -severely repent it. Susan ! 

\^Exit followed by D a m e* 

Handy^ J un^ Br Sivol passion oecomes her j she does 
that vastl) vveTl. 

Sir Abel, Yes, practice makes perfect. 

EiUer Susan. 

Susan, Did your ladyship call ? Heavens I Mr. 
Handy. 

Handy ^ jun. Hush ! my angel ! be composed ! that 
letter will cxplciin. [^Giving a letter^ noticed by AsH- 
yiJ?.LD ] LaU) Handy wishes to see ytiiL 

Susan. 0\\ R-oert ! 

Jia?tdyjjun, At present, my love, no more. 

^Lxii ^u^AVy followed by Ashfield,* 



:^S SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Sir Me!, What were you saying, sir, to that young 
woman ? 

Handy ^jun. Nothing particular, sir. Where is la- 
dy Handy going ? 

Si7- Abel. To dress. 

Handy ^jun* I suppose she has found out the use of 
money. 

Sii' AbeL Yes ; I'll do her the justice to say she en- 
courages trade. Why, do you know, Bob, my best coal 
pit won't find her in white muslins ; round her neck 
hangs a hundred acres at least ; my noblest oaks have 
made wigs for her ; my fat oxen hav^e dwindled into 
Dutch pugs and white mice ; my India bonds are trans- 
muted into shawls and otto of roses ; and a magnificent 
mansion has shrunk into a diamond snufF-box. 

Enter Countryman. 

Coim, Gentlemen, the folks be all got together, and 
the ploughs he ready ; ?ind 

Sir Abel We are commg. \Exit Servant* 

Handy yjun. Ploughs ? 

Sir Abtl, Yes, Bob, we are going to have a grand 
agricultural meeting. 

Handy ^jun. Indeed ! 

Sir AbeL If I could but find a man able to manage 
ray new invented curricle plough, none of them would 
have a chance. 

Handy ^jun. My dear sir, if there be any thing on 
earth 1 c-m do, it is that. 

Sir Abel. What! 

Handy ^jun, I rather fancy I can plough better than 
any man in England. 

Sir AbeL You don't say so ! what a clever fellow 
he is ! I say, Bob, if you would — 

Handy ^jun. No ! I can't condescend. 

Sir Abe L Condescend! why not? mudh more creditable, 
let me ttU you, than ga Hopping a maggot for a thousand, 
#r eating a live c^t,or any other fashionable achievement. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 29 

Handy ^jiin. So it is. Egad ! I will ; Fll carry off the 
prize of industry. 

Sir ^MeL But should you lose, Bob. 

Handily jun. I lose ! that's vastly well ! 

Sir Abel. True, with my curricle plough you could 
hardlv faiL 

Handy ^jun. With my superior skill, Dad. Then, I 
say, how the newspapers will teem with the account. 

Sir Abel. Yes. 

Handy ^jun. That universal genius, Handy, junior 

with a plough - 

' Sir Abel. Stop ; invented by that ingenious machinist, 
Handy, senior. 

Handy., jun. Gained the prize against the first hus- 
bandmen in Hampshire. Let our Bond-street butter- 
flies emulate the example of Handy, junior. 

Sir Abel And let old city grubs cultivate the field of 
science, like Handy, senior. Ecod ! I am so happy ! 

Lady H [ Without,'] Sir Abel ! 

Sir Abel. Ah there comes a damper. 

Handy ^jun. Courage! you have many resources of 
happiness. 

Sir Abel. Have I ? I should be very glad to know 
them. 

Handy., jun. In the first place you possess an excel- 
lent temper. 

Sir Abel So much the worse ; for if I had a bad 
one, I should be the better able to conquer hers. 

Handy ^ jun. You enjoy good health. 

Sir Abel. So much the worse ; for if I were ill, she 
wouldn't come near me. 

Handy., jun. Then you are rich. 

Sir Abel. So much the worse ; for had I been poor, 
she would not have married me. But I say. Bob, if you 
gain the prize, I'll have a patent for my plough. 

Lady H [ Without.'] Sir Abel ! I say— 

Handy jun. Father, could not you get a patent for 
Stopping that sort of noise } 

Sir Abd* If I could; what a sale it would have! No; 
c2 



30 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Bob, a patent has been obtained for the only thing that | 
will silence her — ■ 

Handy, jun. Aye ! What's that ? 

Sir Ahe.l \In a ivhisfier,'] A coffin ! hush ! I'm 
eoming, my dear. 

Handy ^jun. Ha, ha, ha ! \^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 

A Parlour in Ash field's House, 
Enter Ashfield and Wife, 

Ash, I tell ye, I zee'd un gi' Susan a letter an I dau't 
like it a bit. 

Dame, Nor I ; if shame should come to. the poor 
child; I say, Tummas, what would Mrs. Grundy. say 
then ? 

Ash, Dom Mrs. Grundy : what would my poor 
wold heart zay.*^ but I be bound it be all inno* 
cence. 

Enter Henry. 

Dame, Ah, Henry, we have not seen thee at home all 
day. 

Ash, And I do zomehow fanzie things dan't go zo 
clever when thee'rt away from farm. 

Henry, My mind has been greatly agitated. 

Ash, Well, won't thee go and zee the ploughing 
match? 

Henry, Tell me, will not those who obtain prizes be 
introduced to the castle ? 

Ash. Ees, and feasted in the great hall. 

Henry, My good friend, I wish to become a candi- 
date. 

Dame, You, Henry ! 

Henry. It is time I exerted the faculties Heaven has 
bestowed on me ; and though my heavy fate crushes 



SPEED THE PLOUH. 31 

the proud hopes this heart conceives, still le,t me prove 
myself worthy of the place Providence has assigned me. 
IJsidt::'] Should I succeed, it will bring me to the pre- 
sence of that man, who (I know not why) seems the 
dictator of my fate. [7b them.'] Will you furnish me 
with the means? 

Jsh, Will I ! Thou shalt ha' the best plough in the 
parish : I wish it were all gould for thy zake ; and bet- 
ter cattle there can't be noo where. 

Henry, Thanks, my good friend ; my benefactor. I 
have little time for preparation : so receive my cjriUi- 
tude, and farewell. {^Exit, 

Dame A blessing go with thee ! 

Ash, I zay, Henry, take Jolly, and Smiler, and Cap- 
tain, but dan't yu take thic lazy beast Genius. Pll be 
shot if having vive load an acre on my wheat land 
could please me more. 

Dame. Tummas, here comes Susan reading the let^ 
ter. 

Jsh. How pale she do look, dan't she ? 

Daiiv. Ah ! poor thing ! If — --' 

Aah, Hauld thy tongue, woolye? \_Theij retire. 

Enter Susan, readin,^ the letter. 

Susan, Is it possible ! Can the man to whom I've 
given my heart write thus 1 '^ I am compelled to marry 
Miss Blandford ; but my love for my S isan is unaltera- 
ble. I hope she will not, for an act of necessity, ce.ise to 
think with tenderness on her faithful Robert."— —Oh 
man ! ungrateful man ! it is from our bosoms alone you 
derive your power ; how cruel then to use it, in fixing 
in those bosoms endless sorrow and despair? <' Still 
think with tenderness." Base, dishonourable insinua- 
tion. He might have allowed me to esteem him. [^Locks 
up the letter in a box on the table ^ and exit ivee/iing-.J 

[AsHFiELD and Dame co7ne forward. 



22 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Ash. Poor thing ! What can be the matter ? She 
locked up the letter in thic box, and then burst into 
tears. \^Looks at the box. 

Dame. Yes, Tummas ; she locked it in that box sure 
enough. 

{^Shakes a bunch of keys that hangs at her side* 

Ash. What be doing, D ime } what be doing ? 

Dame. [ With affected indifference.'] Nothing ; I was 
only touching these keys. 

{They look at the box and keys signijlcantly. 

Ash. A good tightish bunch ! 

Dame. Yes ; they are of all sizes. 

[ They look as before. 

Ash. Indeed ! Well — Eh ! Dame, why dan't ye speak, 
thou canst chatter fast enow zometimes. 

Dame. Niy, Tummas — I dare say — if — you know 
best — but I think I could find — 

Ash. Well, Eh! you can just try, you knaw. {Great' 
iy agitated.l You can try, just vor the vun on't : but 
mind, dan't ye make a noise. {She ofiens it.] Why^ 
thee hasn't opened it ? 

Dame Nay, Tummas ! you told me ! 

Ash. Did I ? 

Dame. There's the letter ! 

Ash. W^ell, why do ye gi't to I? I dan't want it, 
I'm sure. {Taking itJie turns it over; she eyes it eager* 
ly ; he is about to open it.] She's coming ! she's com- 
ing ! {He conceals the letter^ they tremble violently.] 
No, she's gone into t'other room. {They hang their 
heads dejectedly., then look at each other.] What mua 
that feyther an mother be doing, that do blush and 
tremble at their own dater's coming. {Weeps.] Dang 
it, has she desarv'd it of us ? Did she ever deceive us ? 
Were she not always the most open hearted, dutifulest, 
kindest — and thee to goa like a dom'd spy, and open 
her box, poor thing ! \ 

Dame. Nay, Tummas— 

Ash. You did ! I zaw you do it myzel ! you look like 
^ thief now— you dee. Hush i no — Dame— here be 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. S3 

the letter ; I won't read a word on't ; put it where thee 
vound it, and as thee vound it. 

Dame. With all mv^ heart. 

l^She returns the letter to the box. 

Ash. \_Eiiibraces her.'] Now I can wi' pleasure hug 
my wold wife, and look my child in the vace again. 
I'll call her, and ax her about it ; and if she dan't 
speak without disguisement. Til be bound to be shot — . 
Dame, be the colour of sheame off my face yet ? I ne- 
ver zee*d thee look ugly before. — Susan, my dear Sue, 
come here a bit, woollye ? 

Enter Susan. 

Susan, Yes, my dear father. 

jish. Sue, we do wish to give thee a bit of admonish- 
ifig and parent -like conzultation. 

Susan. I hope I have ever attended to your admoni* 
tions. 

jish. Ees, bless thee, I do believe thee hast, lamb ; 
but we all want our memories jogg'd a bit, or why else 
do parson preach us all to sleep every Zunday. Zo thic 
be the topic : Dame and I, Sue, did zee a letter gi*d to 
thee, and thee — bursted into tears, and locked un up in 
thic box — and then Dame and I — we — that's all. 

Susan. My dear father, if I concealed the contents 
of that letter from your knowledge, it was because 
I did not wish your heart to share in the pain mine 
feels. 

Jish. Dang it, didn't I tell thee zo ^ [ To his nvife. 

Dame. Nay, Turn mas, did I say otherwise. 

Susan. Believe me, my dear parents, my heart 
never gave birth to a thought my tongue feared to ut- 
ter. 

Ash. There, the very words 1 zaid ? 

Susan. If you wish to see the letter, I will show it to 
you. \^She searches for the key. 

Dams. Here's a key will open it. 



S4 SPEED THE PLOUGH, 

Ash. Drabbit it, hold thy tongue, thou wold fool ? 
[Aoide.'] No, Susan. I'll not zee it ; Pll beheve my 
cbii:.. 

Susan. You shall not find your confidence ill-placed. 
It is true the geniieiHan declared he luv.ed me ; it is 
equally true that declaration was not unpleasing to me ; 
alfls ! it is also true, that his letter contains seniiments 
disgraceful to himself and insulting to me. 

Ash. Drabbit it, jf I'd knaw'd that, when we were 
ciKigciling a bit, I wou'd ha' lapt my stick about his 
yibs jjraiiy tighiish, I wou'd. 

^ Susan. Pray, father, don't you resent his conduct to 
jne. 

Ash. What ! mayn't I lather un a bit ? 

Susan. Ohj no ! I've the strongest reasons to the 
contrary ! 

Ash. Well, Sue, I won't ; Pll behave as pratty as I 
al\va\s do. But it be time to go to tne green, and zee 
the fine zights. How I do hate the noise of thic doui'd 
bunch (jf kevs! But bless, thee my child, dan'i {orget 
that vartue to a young woman be vor ail the world 
like — like — dang it, I ha' gotten it all in my head ; but 
zomchow, I can't talk it : but variue be to a young wo- 
man what corn be to a blade o'wheat, do you zee ; for 
%vhile the corn be there it be glorious to the eye, and 
it be called the staff of life ; but lake th<.t treasure 
away, and what do remain ? why nought but thic 
^'orLl:iiess straw that man and beast do tread upon. 

lExeunti 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. m 

SCKNE IV. 

^n extensive view of a cultivated country, A plough^ 
ed field in the centre^ in ivhich arc sttn six different 
ploughs and horses. At one side a handsome tent* 
td number of country pCj/ile assembled. 

Enter Ashfikld and Dame. 

Ash. Make way, make way for the gentry ! and, do 
ye hear, behave pratty as I do. Dang thee, stond 
back, or I'll knack thee down, 1 wool. 

Muter Sir Abel, and Miss Blandford, tvith 
servants. 

Sir Abel. It is very kind of you to honour our rus* 
tic festivities with your presence. 

Miss B. Pray, sir Abel, where is your son ? 

Sir Abel. What ! Bob ? Oh. you'll see him presently* 
[Kodding significantly ] Here are the prize niedals j 
and if you will condescend to present them, I'm sure 
they'll be worn with additional pleasure. I say, you'll 
see Bob presently. Well, farmer, is it all over \ 

Ash. Ees, zur ; the acres be ploughed and the ground 
judged ; and the young lads be coming down to receive 
their reward. Heartily welcome, miss, to your native 
land ; hope you be as pleased to zee we as ^ye be to see 
jou, and the like o'that. Mortal beautizome r be sure^ 
I declare, miss, it do make I quite warm zomehow to 
look at ye. \A shout without.'] They be coaiing— • 
Kow. Henry ! 

Sir Abel. Now you'll see Bob ! now my dear boy. 
Bob ! hei;e he comes. \^Huzza^ 

Enter Henry and two young Husbandmen, 

Ash. 'Tis he, he has don't. Dang you all, why dan'C 
ye shout > Huzza ! 
Bir Abd, Why, zounds, whcre's Bob ? I don't see 



26 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Bob. Bless me, what has become of Bob and my 
plough ? {^Retires and takes out his glass^ 

Ash, Well, Henry, there be the prize, and there be 
the fine lady that will gi' it thee. 

Henry. Tell me who is that lovely creature } 

^4sh The dater of sir Philip Blandford. 

Henry, What exquisite sweetness ! Ah ! should the 
father but resemble her, I shall have but little to fear 
from his severity. 

Ash, Miss, thic be the young man that ha got'n the 
goulden prize. 

Miss B, This ? I always thought ploughmen were 
coarse, vulgar creatures, but he seems handsome and 
diffident. 

Ash, Ees, quite pratty behaved ; it were I that 
teach'd un. 

Miss B, What's your name ? 

Henry, Henry. 

Miss B, And your family ? 
[Henry, m an agony of grief ,^ turns aWay^ strikes his 
forehead^ and leans on the shoulder o/'Ashfield.] 

Dame, [^Apart to Miss B.] Madam, I beg pardon, 
but no body knows about his parentage ; and when it 
is mentioned, poor boy ! he takes on sadly. He has 
lived at our house ever since we had the farm, and we 
have had an allowance for him ; small enough to be 
sure ; but, good lad ! he was always welcome to share 
what we had. 

Miss B. I am shock'd at my imprudence. [Zb 
Henry.] Pray pardon me ; I would not insult an 
enemy, much less one I am inclined to admire — [GiT;- 
zng her liand then withdraws ^V.] to esteem— you 
shall go to the castle ; my father shall protect you. 

Henry, Generous creature ! to merit his esteem is 
the fondest wish of my heart ; to be your slave, tlie 
proudest aim of my ambition. 

Miss B, Rece've your merited reward. \^He kneels ; 
she places the incdal rguiid his neck i the mme to the 
others,'] 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 37 

.V/r AbcL l^^idvanccs.'] I can't see Bob : pray, sir^ 
do 3'ou happen to kaovv what is become of my Bob ? 

ilniry. Sir ? ■ 

Sir Abel. Did not you see a remarkable clever 
plough, and r. young mcMi 

Henry. A; the beginning of the contest I observed a 
gentleman ; his horses I believe were unruly ; but my 
attention was too much occupied to allow me to notice 
iDore. \_Laughing ivithout. 

Handy ^jun. {JVithout P^ How dare you laugh? 

Sir Abel, That's Bob's voice ! S^Laiighing again. 

Enter Handy, jun. in a smock frock.^ cocked hat^ and 
a, piece of a plough in his hand. 

Handy ^ jun. Dare to laugh again, and I'll knock you 
down with this ! Ugh 1 how infernally hot ! 

[ Walks about. 

Sir Abel. Why Bob, wliere have you been ? 

Handy jun. I don't know where I've been. 

Sir Abel. And what have you got in your hand ? 

Handy^ jun. What ! All I could keep of your non- 
sensical ricketty plough {walks about ^ Sir Abel fol- 
hiving). 

Sir Abel. Come, none of that, Sir. Don't abuse my 
plough to cover your ignorance, sir! where is it, sir? 
and where are my famous Leicestershire horses, sir ? 

Handy^ jun. Where ? ha, ha, ha I I'll tell you as 
nearly as i can, ha, ha ! What's the name of the next 
county ? 

Ash. It be called Wiltshire, sur. 

Handy .^ jun. Then, dad, upon the nicest calculation 
I am able to m^ike, they are at this moment engaged in 
the very patriotic act of ploughing Salisbury plain, ha, 
ha ! I saw them fairly over that hill, full gallop, witlx 
the curricle plough at their heels. 

Ash. Ha, ha ! a good one, ha, ha I • 

Handy jun. But never mind, father, you must again 
set your invention to work, and I my toilet \ rather Ji 



S8 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

fleranged figure to appear before a lady in {Fiddles.) 
PL )■ day I What ! are yon going to dance ? 

Ash, Ees. zur, 1 suppose you can sheake a leg a bit ? 

Handzj^jun. I fancy I can dance every possible step, 
fror*; the /:C'? rust to the war-dance of the Catawbaws. 

Ash. Likely. I do hope, miss, you'll join your honest 
TieiehbiiUis ; they'll be deadly hurt an' you won't gig it 
a \n\. *vi' un. 

I\^lss B. With all my heart. 

Sir Abel. Bob's an excellent dancer. 

Ivji^s B. I dare say he is, sir ? but, on this occasion, 
I thuik I ought to dance with the young man, who gain- 
er'' the prize. I think it would be most pleasant— most 
pv* . t-r. I mean ; and I am glad you agree with me. 
S' .'. sir, if you'll accept my hand— 

[Hekky takes it, 

^ir Abel. Very pleasantly settled, upon my soul I 
Bri'^, won't vou dance t 

I'caidiij'un. 1 dance ! no, I '11 look at them \ I'll 
qisi-^jc.v '('"k on. 

i Ab^l Egad now, as my wife's away, I'll try to 
■£;. ' ^>reity girl, and make one among them. 

M^h. That's heartv ! Come, dame, hang the rheuma- 
tic^ : Now, lads and lasses, behave pratty, and strike 
up. \^A dance. 

[Handy, jun. looks on a little^ and then begins to 
wove hi'^ legs ; then dashes into the midst of the dance ^ 
a?^d -vdcavours to imitate every one opposite to him ; 
:'/■; ;?, being exhausted, hp haves the dance^ seizes the 
jlddle^ and plays till the curtain drops.'] 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. ^d 

ACT THE THIRD. 

SCENE I. 

^in J/iartment in the Castle. 

Sir Philip Blandford discovered on a conchy read" 
ing- ; Servants arrew ding. 

Sir Philiji, Is not my daughter yet returned ? 

Serv. No, sir Philip. 

Sir Philifi, Dispatch a servant to her. 

S^Exit Servant* 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv, Sir, the old gardener is below, and asks to 
See you. 

Sir Philip, \_Rises and thro%vs aiuay the book.'] Ad- 
mit hitn instantly, and leave <!)e, \^Exit Sekvant. 

Rnter Evergreen,, nvho bows^ then looking at Sir. 
Philip, clasps his hands together^ and laeefis. 

Does this desolation affect thee, old man? Ccme near me* 
Time has laid a lenient hand on thee. 

Everg. Oh, my dear master ! can twenty 3'eari> have 
wrought the diange I see ? 

Sir Philip. No ; \_Striking his breast."] 'tis the cvn- 
ker here that hath withered up my trunk ; but are we 
secure from observation ? 

Everg. Yes. 

Sir Philip. Then tell me, does the boy live ? 

Everg. He does, and is as fine a youth— 

Sir Philip. No comments. 

Everg. We named him — 

Sir Philip, Be dumb ! let me not hear his name* 



40 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Has care been taken he may not blast me with his pre- 
sence ? 

li.verg. It has, and he cheerfully complied. 

Sir Fhilifi, Enough ! never speak of him more. 
Have you removed every dreadful vestige from the fa- 
tal chamber? [Evergreen hesitates.'] O speak ! 

Everg. My dear master ! I confess my want of duty, 
Alas ! 1 had not courage to go there. 

Sir Philiju Ah I 

JEverg, Nay, forgive me I wiser than I have felt 
such terrors. The apartments have been carefully 
locked up ; the keys not a moment from my posses- 
sion : here they are. 

Sir Philiji. Then the task remains with me. Dread- 
ful thought ! I can well pardon thy fears, old man. O \ 
could I wipe from my memory that hour, when — 

Everg. Hush ! your daughter. 

Sir Fhilip. Leave me ; we'll speak anon. 

{^Exit Evergreen. 

Enter Miss Blandford. 

Miss B. Dear father ! I came the moment I heard 
you wished to see me. 

Sir Philip, My good child, thou art the sole support 
that props my feeble life. I fear my wish for thy com- 
pany deprives thee of much pleasure. 

Miss B. Oh no ! what pleasure can be equal to that 
of giving you happiness ? Am I not rewarded in seeing 
your eyes beam with pleasure on me ? 

Sir Philifi, 'Tis the pale reflection of the lustre I see 
sparkling there. But, tell me, did yoiir lover gain the 
prize ? 

Miss B. Yes, papn. 

Sir Philip. Few men of liis rank — 

3Iiss B. Oh I you mean Mr. Handy : 

Sir Philip. Yes. 

Miss B, No ; he did not. 

Sir Philip, Then, whom did ijou mean ? 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 41 

Miss B. Did vnii say lover } I — I mistook. No ; a 
young man called Henry obtained the prize. 

Sir Philifi. And how did Mr. Handy succeed ? 

Miss B. Oh ! It was so ridiculous I I will tell you, 
papa, what happened to him. 

Sir Philifi, To Mr. Flandy ? 

Miss B. Yes ; as soon as the contest was over, Henry* 
presented hinnself. I was surprised at seeing a young 
man so handsome and eleg mt as Henry is. Then I 
placed the nriedal round Henry's neck, and was told, 
thai poor Henry — 

Sir Phili/i. Henry I So, my love, this is your account: 
of Mr. Robert Handy ! 

Miss B. Yes, p ij)a ; no, papa ; he came afterwards, 
dressed so ridiculously, that even Henry could not help 
smiling. 

Sir Philiji. Henry again ! 

Miss B. Then we had a dance. 

Sir Philifi. Of course you danced with your lover ? 

Miss B. Yes, papa. 

Sir Philifi. How does Mr. Handy dance ? 

Miss B. Oh ! he did not dance till — 

Sir Philifi.^ You danced with your lover? 

Miss B. Yes — no papa \ Somebody said (I don't: 
know who) that I ought to dance with Henry, because— 

Sir Philifii. Still Henry ! Oh ! some rustic boy. My 
dear child, you talk as if you loved this Henry. 

Miss B. Oh ! no, papa ; and I am certain he don'tr 
love me. 

Sir Philip, Indeed ! 

Aliss B. Yes, papa ; for, when he touched my hand, 
he trembled as if I terrified him ; and instead of look- 
ing at me as you do, who I am sure love me, whert 
our eyes met, he withdrew his, and cast them on tha 
ground. 

Sir Philifi. And these are the reasons, which make^ 
you conclude he does not love you t 

19 2 



42 k^EKD THE PLOUGHl. 

Sir Fhui/2, And probably you could adduce proof 
equally convincing that you don't iove him ? 

Miss B. Oh, yes, quite ; for in the dance he some- 
times paid attention to other young women, and I was 
so angry with him ! Now, you know, papa, I love you ; 
and I am sure I should hot have been angry with you 
had you done so. 

Sir Philip. But one question more. Do you think 
Mr. Handy loves you I 

Miss B. I have never thought about it, papa. 

Sir Philifi. I am satisfied. 

Miss B, Yes, I knew I should convince you. 

Sir Philifi, Oh, love ; malign and subtle tyrant, how 
falsely art thou painted blind I 'tis thy votaries are so 5 
for what but blindness can prevent their seeing thy 
poisoned shaft, which is for ever doomed to rankle in the 
victim's heart. 

Miss B. Oh ! now I am certain I am not in love ; 
for I feel no rankling at my heart. I feel the softest, 
sweetest sensation 1 ever experienced. But, papa, you 
iTJUst come to the lawn^ I don't know why, but to-day 
nature seems enchanting ; the birds sing more sweetly 
and the flowers give more perfume. 

Sir Philip. ^^Aside."] Such was the day my youthful fan- 
cy pictured ! How did it close ! 

Miss B. I promised Henry your protection. 

Sir Philifi. Indeed ! that was much. Well I will 
see your rustic here. This infant passion must be 
crushed. Poor wench ! some ai'tless boy has caught 
■by youthful fancy. Thy arm, my child. ]^Ex€unt< 

SCENE li. 

A Larjn before the Castle^ 

Enter Henry and Ashfielb. 

Ash. Well I here thee'rt going to make thy bow to 
feir Philip. I zay, if he should take a fancy to thee, 
thou'k come to farm, and zee us zometimes wo'tn'C; 
iienry. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 43 

Henry, [^Shaking his hand.'] Tell me, is that Sir 
Philip Blandford, who leans on that lady's arm ? 

Ash. I don't know, by reason, d'ye zee, I never 
zeed 'un. Well good bye ! I declare thee doz look 
quite grand with thic golden prize about thy neck, vor 
all the world like the lords in their stars, that do come 
to theas pearts to pickle their skins in the zalt zea 
ocean ! Good b'ye, Henry ! \_Exit. 

Henry. He approaches ! why this agitation ? I wish, 
yet dread, to meet him. 

Enter Sir Philip andMiss Blandford, attended. 

Miss B, The joy your tenantry display at seeing 
you again must be truly grateful to you. 

Sir Philip. No, my child ; for I feel I do not merit 
it. Alas ! I can see no orphans clothed with my bene- 
ficence, no anguish assuaged by my care. 

Miss B. Then I am sure my dear father wishes to 
show his kind intentions. So I will begin by placing one 
under his protection. \_Goe8 up. the stage ^ and leads 
down Henry. Sir Philip, on seeing him^ starts^ 
then becomes greatly agitated."] 

Sir Philip. Ah ! do my eyes deceive me ! No, it 
must be him I Such was the face his father wore. 

Henry. Spake you of my father ! 

Sir Philip. His presence brings back recollections, 
which drive me to madness ! How came he here ? 
Who have I to curse for this ? 

Miss B, {^Falling on his iieck.] Your daughter. 

Henry. Oh sir I tell me — ^on my knees I ask it I do 
my parents live ? bless me with my father's name, and 
my days shall pass in active gratitude, my nights in 
prayers for you. [Sir Philip views him with severe 
co7Uempt.] Do not mock my misery I Have you a 
heart ? 

Sir Philip. Yes ; of marble. Cold and obdurate to 
the world ; ponderous and painful to myself. Quit my 
sight for ever f 



44 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Miss B, Go, Henry, and save me from my father's 
curse. 

Henry. I obey : cruel as the command is, I obey it. 
I shall often look at this, {Touching the medalP^ and 
think on the bUssful moment, when your hand placed it 
there. 

Sir Philip, Ah ! tear it from his breast. 

[SERVANT advances. 

Henry. Sooner take my life ! It is the first honour I 
have earned, and it is no mean one ; for it assigns me 
the first rank among the sons of industry ! This is my 
claim to the sweet rewards of honest labour I Tiiis will 
give me competence, nay morej enable me to despise 
your tyranny ! 

Sir Philip, Rash boy, mark ! Avoid me, and be se- 
cure. Repeat this intrusion, and my vengeance shall 
pursue thee. 

Henry. I defy its power l you are in England, sir, 
"where the man, who bears about him an upright heart, 
bears a charm too potent for tyranny to humble. Can 
your frown wither up my youthful vigour ? No I Can 
your malediction disturb the slumbers of a quiet con- 
science } No ! Can your breath stifle in my heart the 
adoration it feels for that pitying angel ? Oh, no 1 

Sir Philip, Wretch i you shall be taught the differ- 
ence between us ! 

Henry, I feel it now ! proudly feel it I You hate the 
man, that never wronged you ; I could love the man, 
that injures me. You meanly triumph o'er a worm ; 
I make a giant tremble. 

Sir Philip, Take him from my sight ! Why am I not 
obeyed ? 

Miss jB, Henry, if you wish my hate should not ac- 
company my father's, instantly begone. 

Henry, Oh J pity me ? {^ExiL 

[Miss V}hAi:iTi¥OKTi looks after him. Sir Philip, 
exhausted^ leans on his servant. 

Sir Philip. Supported by my servant I I thought I 
had a daughter ! 



SPEED THE PLOUGIL 4/ir 

MifiS B. \^Running to hi?nJ] O you have, my father ' 
oiie that loves you better than her life 1 

Sir Philip. [To Servant.] Leave us. 

lExit Servant. 
Emma, if you feel, as I fear you do, love ^br that vouth ; 
mark my words I When the dove wooes for its mate 
the ravenous kite ; when nature's fixed antipathies 
mingle in sweet concord, then, and not till then, hope to 
' e united. 

Miss B. O Heaven ! 

Sir Philip. Have you not promised me the disposal 
r f your hand ? 

Miss B. Alas ! my father ! I didn't then know the 
difficulty of obedience ! 

Sir PhilifK Hear, then, the reasons why I demand 
compliance. You think I hold these rich estate's. 
Alas, the shadow only, not the substance. 

Miss B. Explain, my father ! 

Sir Philip, When I left my native country, I left it 
^vith a heart lacerated by every wound, that the false- 
hood of others, or my own conscience, could inflict. 
Hateful to myself, I became the victim of dissipation ; 
I rushed to the gaming table, and soon became the dupe 
of villains. My ample fortune v/as lost ; 1 detecT.ed one 
in the act of fraud, and4iaving brought him to my feet, 
he confessed a plan had been laid for my ruin ; that he 
was but an humble instrument ; for that the man, who, 
by his superior genius, stood possessed of all the mort- 
gages and securities 1 had giv^n, was one Morringcon. 

Miss B, I have heard you name him before. Did 
you not know this Morrington ? 

Sir Philip. No ; he, like his deeds, avoided the 
light : ever dark, subtle, and mysterious. Collecting 
the scattered remnant of my gltrtune, I wandered 
wretched and desolate, till, in a peaceful village, I first 
beheld thy j|iother, humble in birth, but exalted in vir- 
tue. The morning after our marriage she received a 
packet, containing these words : *' The reward of virtu«> 
ous love, presented by a repentant villain ;" and which 



46 SPEED THE PLOUGPr. 

also contained bills and notes to the high amount of tert 
thousand pounds. Mi 

Miss B. And no name ? ij! 

Sir Philifi, None ; nor could I ever guess at the ge- 
nerous donor. I need not tell thee what my heart suf- 
ferred when death deprived me of her. Thus circum- 
stanced, this good man, Sir Abel Handy, proposed to 
unite our families by marriage ; and in consideration of 
what he termed the honour of our aUiance, agreed to 
pay off every incumbrance on my estates, and settle 
them as a portion on you and his son. Yet still another 
wonder remains. When I arrive, I find no claim 
whatever has been made, either by Morrington or his 
agents. What am I to think ^ Can Morrington have 
perished, and with him his large claims to my proper- 
ty ? Or, does he withhold the blow, to make it fall 
more heavily ? 

Miss B, 'Tis very strange ! very mysterious ! But 
my father has not told me what misfortune led him to 
leave his native country. 

Sir Philip. [Greatly agitated,'] Ha ! 

Miss B. May I not know it I 

Sir Philip,. Oh, never, never, never J 

Miss B. I will not ask it. Be composed. Let me 
wipe away those drops of anguish from your brow.— - 
How cold your cheek is ! My father, the evening damps^ 
•will harm you. Come in. I will be all you wish ; in- 
deed I wilL \^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. 

An Apartment in the Castle. 

£f^' Evergreen. 

Everg. Was ever any thing so unluck^^. Henry to 
come to the castle and meet sir Philip ! Ii^hould have 
consulted me ; I shall be blamed ; but, thsitnk Heaven, 
I am innocent. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 4? 

[Sir Abel aiid Lady Handy nvithoiit.'] 

Lady H. I will be treated with respect. 

6zV Abel. You shall, my de'ir. \_Theij enter. 

Lady K But how ! but how, sir Abel ( I repeat it — 

Sir Abel [^Aside.'] For the fiftieth time. 

Lady H, Your son conducts himself with an insolence 
I wont endure ; but you are ruled by him, you have no 
will of your own. 

Sir Abel. I have not, indeed. 

Lady H» How contempiibie ! 

Sir Abel. Why, my dear, this is the case : I am like 
the ass in the table ; and if I am doomed to carry a 
packsaddle, it is nor much matter who drives me. 

Lady H. To yield your power to those the law al- 
lows you to govern ! — — 

Sir Abel. Is very weak, indeed. 

Everg. Lady Handy, your very humble servant ; I 
heartily congratulate you, madam, on your marriage 
with this worthy gentleman. Sir, I give you joy. 

Sir Abel. \Aside^^ Not before 'tis wanted. 

Everg. Aye, my lady, this match makes up for the 
imprudence of your first. 

Lady H. Hem ! 

Sir Abel. Eh ! What I what's that ? Eh ! what do 
you mean ? 

Everg, I mean, sir, that lady Handy's former hus- 
band 

Sir Abel. Former husband ! Why, my dear, I never 
knew — Eh I 

Lady LL A mumbling old blockhead ! Didn't you, sir 
Abel ? Yes ; I was rather married many years ago ; 
but my husband went abroad and died. 

Sir Abel. Died, did he ? 

Everg, Yes, sir, he was a servant in the castle. 
Sir Abel. Indeed ! So he died ; poor fellow ! 

Lady H. Yes. ^ 

Sir Abel, What, you are sure he died; are you ? 

Lcidy H, Don't you hear ? 



45 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Sir jlbel. Poor fellow ! neglected, perhaps ; iiad I 
known it, he should have had the best advice money 
could have got. 

Lady H, You seem sorry. 

Sir Mel, WhW'i you would not have me pleased at 
the death of your husband, would you I a good kind of 
man } 

Everg. Yes ; a faithful fellow ; rather ruled his wife 
too severely. 

Sir Abel. Did he ! [Afmrt to Evergreen.] Pray 
do you happen to recollect his manner .•* Could you just 
give a hint of the way he had ? 

Lady H. Do you want to tyrannize over my poor 
tender heart ? 'Tis too much ! 

Everg. Bless me ! Lady Handy is ill. Salts ! salts ! 

Sir AbeL [^Producing an essence box.\ Here are 
salts, or aromatic vinegar, or essence of — 

Everg. Any ; any. 

Sir AbeL Bless me, I can't find the key ! 

.Everg. Pick the lock. 

Sir AbeL It can't be picked ; it is a patent lock. 

Everg. Then break it open, sir. 

Sir AbeL It can't be broke open ; it is a contrivance 
of my own : you see, here comes a horizontal bolt, 
which acts upon a spring, therefore 

Lady H. 1 may die while you are describing a hori* 
zontal bolt. Do you think you shall close your eyes for 
a week for this ? 

Enter Sir Philip Blandford. 

Sir Philifi, What has occasioned this disturbance ? 

Lady H. Ask that gentleman. 

Sir AbeL Sir, I am accused — 

Lady H. Convicted ! convicted \ 

Sir AbeL Well,- I will not argue with you about 
words, because I must bow to your superior practice 5 
butj sir— 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 49 

Sir Philift, Pshaw ! [^/ia^Y] Lady Handy, some of 
your people were enquiring: for you. 

Lady If. Thank you, sir. Come, sir Abel. lExh. 

Sir Mel, Yes, my lady. I say, [Zb Evergreen.] 
couldn't you give me a hint of the way he had — 

Lady H. {IVithoutT^ Sir Abel! 

Sir AheL Coming, my soul ! \Exit, 

Sir Philip. So ! you have well obeyed my orders in 
keeping this Henry from my presence. 

Mverg. I was not to blame, master. 

Sir Philip, Has farmer Ashfield left the castle? 

L-oerg. No, sir. 

Sir Philip. Send him hither. \_Exit Evergreen.] 
That boy must be driven far, far from my sight. But 
where I no matter ! the world is large enough. 

Enter Ashfield. 

Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine. 

Afih. Ees, zur, I do, at you zarvice. 

Sir Philip. I hope a profitable one ? 

Ash, Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all 
t'other way, as 'twur ; but I do hope, as our landlords 
have a tightish big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind 
hearted as to take a little bit of the bad. 

Sir Philip. It is but reasonable. I conclude, then^ 
you are in my debt. 

Ash. Ees, zur, I be ; at your zarvice. 

Sir Philip. How mucn ? 

Ash. I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds ; at 
your zarvice. 

Sir Philip, Which you can't pay } 

Ash. Not a varthing, zur ; at your zarvice. 

Sir Philip, Well, 1 am willing to give you every in- 
dulgence. 

Ash. Be you, zur ? that be deadly kind. Dear heart f 
it will make my auld dame quite young again, and I 
don't think helping a poor man will do your honour's 
hcalih any ho.nu ; I don't indeed, zur, 1 had a thought 

E 



50 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

of speaking to yoiir worship about it ; but then, thinks 
I, the gentleman mayhap, be one of those that do like 
to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid about it : 
zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I 
am zure I never should ; should not, indeed, zur. 

Sir Philiji. Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the 
debt, on condition — ^ 

Ash. Ees, zur. 

Sir Philifi, On condition, I say, you instantly turft 
out that boy ; that Henry. 

A^h. Turn out Henry ! Ha, ha, ha ! Excuse my tit- 
tering, znr ; but you bees making your vun of I, zure. 

Sir Fhilifi, I am not apt to trifle ; send him instant* 
ly from you. or take the consequences. 

AhH. Turn out Henry I I do vow I shou'dn't knaw 
how to zet about it ; I should not, indeed, zur. 

Sir Philip, You hear my determination. If you dis- 
obey, you know what will foilow. I'll leave you to re- 
flect on it. [Exit, 

Ash. W^ell, zur, I'll argufy the topic, and then you 
may wait upon me, and T'll tell ye. [^Adakes the motion 
of turning out."] I shou'd be deadly awkward at it, vor 
zartain. However, I'll put the case. Well ! I goes 
whiztling whoam ; noa, drabbit it ! I shou'dn't be able 
to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well I I goas whoam, and I 
zees Henry zitting by my wife, mixing up someit to 
comfot't the wold zouK and take away the pain of her 
rheumatics. Very well ! Then Henry places a chair 
vor 1 by the vire side, and says — '^ Varmer, the horses 
be fed, the sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do 
but to zit down, smoke your pipe, and be happy !" Veiy 
well 1 lBeco?nes affected.'] Then I zays, '^ Henry, yoii 
be poor and friendless, zo you must turn out of my 
houze directly." Very well \ then my wife stares at I; 
reaches her hand toward the vire place, and throws the 
poker at my head. Very well ! then Henry gives a 
kind of aguish shake, and getting up, sighs from the 
bottom of his heart ; then holding up his head like a 
king, zays, ^^ Varraen I have too long been a burden lo 






SPEED THE PLOUGH. 51 



v'bu. Heaven protect voii, as vou have me. Farewell! 
I ?o." Then I za\ s, '' If thee doez Til be donui'cl V 
[ JVith ^reat energy'] Hollo ! you JNIister Sir Pniiip ! 
you may come in. 

Enter Sir Philip Blandford 

Zur, I have argufied the topic, and it wou'dn't be prat* 
ty ; zo I can't 

Sir Philifi. Can't ! absurd ! 

Ash, Well, zur, there is but another word : I won't. 

Sir Philip. Indeed! 

Ash. No, zur, I won't. I'd zee myself hanged first, 
and you too, zur ; I would indeed. [^Bowing, 

Sir Philifi. You refuse then to obey. 

Ash. I do, zur ; at your zarvice. ^Bowing, 

Sir Philifi. Then the law must take its course. 

Ash. I be zorry for that too. I be, indeed, zur, but 
if corn wou'dn't grow I cou'dn't help it ; it wer'n't poi- 
son'd by the hand that zow'd it. Thic hand, sur, be as 
free from guilt as your own. 

Sir Philifi. Oh! \Sighing deefily^ 

A,^h. It were never held out to clinch a hard bar- 
gain, nor will it turn a good lad out into the wide wick- 
ed world, because he be poorish a bit. I be zorry you 
be offended, zur, quite ; but come what wool, I'll never 
hit thic hand against here, but when I be zure that 
zumeit at inside will jump against it with pleasure. 
[Boxving.'] \ ^o hope you'll repent of all your zins ; I do, 
indeed, zur ; and if you shou'd, I'll come and zee you 
again as friendly as ever ; I wool, indeed, zur. 

Sir Phiiji. Your repentance will come too late. 

{Exit, 

Ash. Thank ye, zur. Good morning to you. I do 
hope I have made myzel agreeable j and zo I'll go 
whoam. S^Exits 



52 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 
ACT THE FOURTH. 

SCENE I. 

^ room in Ashfield's House. 

Dame Ashfield discovered at work with her needle ^ 
Henry Hitting by her. 

Dame. Come, come, Henry, you'll fret yourself HI, 
child. If sir Philip will not be kind to you, you are 
but where you were. 

Henry. iRising.'\ My peace of mind is gone for 
ever. Sir Philip may have cause for hate ; — spite of his 
unkindness to me, my heart seeks to find excuses iot 
him : oh ! chat heart doats on his lovely daughter. 

Dame ^Looking out.'] Here comes Turn mas home 
at last. Heyday, what's the matter with the man I 
He doesn't seem to know the way into his own house. 

Enter Ashfield musing i he stumbles against a chair* 

Tummas, my dear Tarn mas, what's the matter ? 

Ash. [^JK^ot attending.] It be lucky vor he I he's zoo 
pratty behnved, or dom if I — {Doubling hisjist* 

Dame. Who — svhat.^ 

Ash. Nothing at all ; where's Henry? 

Henry. Here, farmer. 

Ash. Thee woult'nt leave us, Henry, won't } 

Henry. Leave you ! What leave you now, when by 
my exertion 1 can pay off part of the debt of gratitude 
I ov»^e you ? oh, no ! 

Ash. Nciy, it were not vor that I axed, I promise 
thee ; come gi'us thy hand on't then. \Shaking hands ^ 
Now, I'll tell ye. Zur Philip did send vor 1 about the 
money I do owe 'un ; and said as how he'd make ail 
straight beivveen us 

Dame, That was kind* 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 53 

Ash. Ees, deadly kind. Make all straight on condi- 
tion I did turn Henry out o' my doors. 

Dame. What ! 

Henry, Where will his hatred cease ? 

Dame. And what did you say, Turn mas ? 

Ash. Why I zivelly tould un, if it were agrceable to 
he to behave like a brute, it were agreeable to I to be- 
have like a man. 

Dame. That was right. I would have told him a 
great deal more. 

Ash. Ah ! likely. Then a'zaid I shou'd ha' a bit a 
laa vor my pains. 

Henry. And do you imagine I will see you suffer on 

my account ? No ; I will remove this hated form- 

IGoing.'] 

Ash. No, but thee shat'un ; thee shat'un, I tell thee. 
Thee have givun me thy hand on't, and dom'me if thee 
sha't budge one step out of this house, Drabbit it ! 
what can he do ? he can't send us to jail. Why, I have 
corn will zell for half the money 1 do owe'un ; and 
han't I cattle and sheep ? deadly lean to be zure ; and 
han't I a thumping zilver watch, almost as big as thy 

head ? and dame here a got How many silk gowns 

have thee got, dame ? 

Dame. Three Tummas ; and sell them all ; and Til 
go to church in a stuff one ; and let Mrs. Grundy turn 
up her nose as much as she pleases. 

Henry. Oh, my friends, my heart is full. Yet a day 
will come, when this heart will prove its gratitude. 

Dame. That day, Henry, is every day. 

Ash. Dang it ! never be down hearted. I do know 
as well as can be, zome good luck will turn up. All 
the way I corned whoam I looked to vind a purse in 
the path. But I didn't though. \_A knocking at the 
door.l 

Dame. Ah ! here they are, comeing to sell I sup- 
pose — 

Ash. Lettun ; lettun zeize and zell ; v/e ha gotten 
here {Striking his breast.'] what we won't zell, and 
i: 2 



54 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

the)' can't zell. \_Knockin^ again.'] Come in ; dang it, 
don't ye be shy. 

Enier Morrington and Gerald* 

Henry. Ah ! the strangers I saw this morning* 
These are not officers of law. 

^sh Noa ! Walk in, gemmen^ Glad to zee ye wi* 
all my heart and zoul. Come, dame, spread a cloth, 
bring out cold meat, and a mug of beer. 

Gerald. {^To Morrington.] That is the boj^, 
[Morrington nods.'] 

Ash. Take a chair, zur. 

Mor, i thank, and admire your hospitality. Don't 
trouble yourself, good woman. I am not inclined to 
eat, 

jlsh. That be the case here. To-day none o'we be 
auver hungry: misfortin be apt to stay the stomach 
confoundedly — 

Mor. Has misfortune reached this humble dwelling? 

Jsh. Ees, zur. I do think vor my part it do work 
its way in every where. 

Mor. Well, never despair. 

Ash. I never do, zur. It is not my way. When the 
sun do shine I never think of voul weather, not I ; and 
when it do begin to rain, I always think that's a zurc 
zign it will give auver. 

Mor. Is that young man your son ? 

Ash. No, zur ; I do wish he were wi* all my heart 
and zoul. 

Gerald. [7b Morrington.] Sir, remember. 

Mor. Doubt not my prudence. Young man, your 
appearance interests me ; — how can I serve you ? 

Henry. By informing me who are my parents, 

Mor. That I cannot do. 

Henry, Then by removing from me the hatred of 
sir Philip Blandford. 

Mor. Does sir Philip hate yon I 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 55 

Re7irij. With such severity, that even now he is 
about to ruin these worthy creatures, because they 
have protected me. 

Mor, Indeed ! misfortune has made him cruel. 
That should not be. 

Ash, Noa, it should not indeed, zur. 

Mor, It shall not be. 

Ash. Shan't it, zur? But how shan't it? 

Mor, I will prevent it. 

Ash. Wool ye, faith and troth ? Now, dame, did not 
I zay zome good luck would turn up ? 

Henry, Oh, sir, did I hear you rightly ? Will yoa 
preserve my friends ? will you avert the cruel arm of 
power, and make the virtuous happy ? my tears must 
thank you. [ Taking his hand, 

Mor. \pisengaging his hand."] Young man you op- 
press me ; forbear ! I do not merit thanks. Pay your 
gratitude where you are sure 'tis due : to Heaven. Ob- 
serve me ; here is a bond of sir Philip Blandford's for 
1000/. ; do you present it to him, and obtain a discharge 
for the debt of this worthy man. The rest is at your 
own disposal : no thanks. 

Henry, But, sir, to whom am I thus highly in- 
debted ? 

Mor, My name is Morrington. At present that in- 
formation must suffice. 

Henry, Morrington. 

Ash. {BowingP^ Zur, if I may be so bold— — 

Mor. Nay^ friend 

Ash, Don't be angry, I hadn't thanked you, zur, nor 
I won't. Only, zur, I were going to ax, when you 
"wou'd call again. You shall have my stamp note vor 
the money ; you shall indeed, zur. And in the mean 
time, I do hope you'll take zomeit in way of remem- 
brance as 'twere. 

Dame. Will your honour put a couple of turkies in 
your pocket \ 

Ash, Or pop a ham under your arm I don't ye 2;ay 
no, if it's agreeable^ 



:^S SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Mar. Farewel, good friends, I shall repeat my visit 
soon. 

Dame, The sooner the better. 

j^sh. Good bye to ye, zur. Dame and I wool go to 
work as merry as crickets. Good bye, Henry. 

Dame, Heaven bless your honour ; and I hope you 
will carry as much joy away with you, as you leave be- 
hind you ; I do indeed. 

{^Exeunt Ashfifld and Dame. 

Mor, Young man, proceed to the castle, and demand 
an audience of sir Philip Blandford. In your way thi- 
ther, I'll instruct you further. Give me your hand. 
\^£xeunt MoRRiT^GT ON ^hooking stedfastly onKEi^Rr^ 
Gerald Jbllowing. 

SCENE II. 

|| */f;2 Aiiartment in the Castle, 

Sir Philip Blandford discovered. Miss Blanb^ 
FORD reading. 

Miss B, Shall I proceed to the next essay ^ 

Sir Philip. What does it treat of .^ 

Miss B. Love and friendship. 

Sir Philip, A satire } 

Miss B. No, father ; a eulogy. 

Sir Philip. Thus do we find, in the imaginations of 
men, what we in vain look for in their hearts. Lay it 
by, [^A knocking at the door."] Come in. 
Enter Evergreen. 

Everg. My dear master, I am a petitioner to you. 

Sir Philip, \Iiises^^ None possesses a better claim 
o my favour ; ask, and receive. 

Everg, I thank you, sir. The unhappy Henry — 

Miss B, What of him } 

Sir Philip. Emma, go to your apartment. 

Miss B, Poor Henry ! [^Exitt 

Sir Phiiifis ImiivmlQnt man ! 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 57 

JSverg. [Sir Philip tmms from /ii?n with resent » 
meyit.'] Nay, be not angry ; he is without, and entreats 
to be admit Jed. 

Sir Phili/i. I cannot, will not, again behold him. 

JEverg. I am sorry you refuse me, as it compels me 
to repeat his words : " If," said he, " sir Philip denies 
my humble request, tell him, I demand to see him." 

Sir Philiji. Demand to see me I well, his high com- 
mand shall be obeyed then, [sarcastically. '\ Bid hina 
approach. [Exit Evergreen". 

Enter Henry. 

Sir Philip. By what title, sir, do you thus intrude on me ? 

Henry. By one of an imperious nature, the title of a 
creditor. 

Sir Philifi. I your debtor ! 

Henry, Yes ; for you owe me justice. You, perhaps, 
withhold from me the inestimable treasure of a pa- 
rent's blessing. 

Sir Pfiilifi, [Ln/iatiently'] To the business that 
brought you hither. 

Henry. Thus, then. I believe this is your signature. 

[Producing a bond. 

Sir PhiUfi, Ah ! [Recovering himself] it is — 

Henry. Affixed to a bond of 1000/. wiiich, by assign- 
ment, is mine. By virtue of this 1 discharge the debt 
of your worthy tenant, Ashfield, who, it seems, was 
guilty of the crime of vindicating the injured, and pro- 
tecting the unfortunate. Now, sir Philip, the retribu- 
tion my hate demands is, that what remains of this ob- 
ligation may not be now paid to me, but wait your en- 
tire convenience and leisure. 

Sir Phili/i, No ! that must not be. 

Henry. Oh, sir ! why thus oppress an innocent 
man ? why spurn from you a heart that pants to serve 
you I No answer ; farewell. [Going, 

Sir Philip. Hold ; one word before we part ; tell me 
—I dreaa to ask it. [Adde.'] How came you possessed 
of this bond ^ 



oS SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Henry. A stranger, whose kind benevolence Stepped 
in and saved — 

Sir Philip. His nanae ? 

Henry. Morrini^on. 

iS'fr Philip. Fiend ! tormentor I has he caught me ! 
You liave seen this Morrington ? 

Henry. Yes. 

Sir Philip. Did he speak of me ? 

Henry. He did ; and of your daughter. " Conjure 
him," said he, '^ not to sacrifice the lovely Emma, by a 
marriage her heart revolts at. Tell him, the Ufe and 
fortune of a parent are not his own ; he holds them but 
in trust for his offspring. Bid him reflect, that, while 
his daughter merits the brightest rewards a father can 
bestow, she is by that father doomed to the harshest 
fate tyranny can inflict." 

Sir Philip. Torture ! [ With vehemence.'] Did he say 
who cause » this sacritice ? 

Henry. He told me you had been duped of your for- 
tune bv sharpers. 

Sir Philip Aye, he knows that well. Young man, 
mark me : This Morrington, whose precepts wear 
the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevo- 
lence, was the chief of the hellish banditti that ruined 
me. 

Henry' Is it possible ? 

Sir Philip. That bond you hold in your hand was 
obtained by robbery » 

7^i??ir?/. Confusion I 

Sir Philip. Not by the thief who, encountering you 
as a man, stakes life against Ute, but by that most cow- 
ardly villain, who, in the moment when reason sleeps, 
and passion is roused, draws his snares around you, 
and hugs you to your ruin. 

Henry. On your soul, is Morrington that man ? 

Sir Philip. On my soul, he is. 

Henry. Thus, then, I annihilate the act ; and thus I 
treao upon a villain's iriendship. \_Tearing the bond^ 

Sir Philip, Rash boy ! what have you done t 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 59 

Henry. An act of justice to sir Philip Blandford. 

Sir Philip. For which you claim my ihctnks? 

Henry. Sir, I aiTi thanked already ; here. \_Pointing' 
to his heart-l Curse on such wealth ! compared with. 
its possession, poverty is sj^lendour. Fear not for me ; 
I shall not feel the piercing cold ; for in that man, 
Tvhose heart beats warmly ibr his fellow creatures, the 
blood circulates with freedom. My food shall l)e what 
few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of, the 
luscious bread of independence ; and the opiate, that 
brings me sleep, will be the recollection of the day pass- 
ed in innocence. 

Sir Philip. Noble boy ! Oh Blandford \ 

Henry. Ah ! 

Sir Philili, What have I said ? 

Plenry. You called me Blanrlford. 

Sir Philifi. 'Twas error ; 'twas madness. 

Henry. Blandford ! a thousand hopes and fears rush 
on my heart. Disclose to me mv birth ; be it what it 
may, I am your slave for ever. Refuse me, you create 
a foe, firm and implacable as — 

Sir Philifi. Ah ! am I threatened ? Do not extin- 
guish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with. 

Henry. I will not. Oh ! tbrgive me. 

Sir Philifi. Yes, on one condition : leave me. Ah 1 
some one approaches. Begone, I insist ; I intreat. 

Henry. That word has charmed me \ I ooey : Sir 
- Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect, me. [^Exit^ 

Enter HAi^DY^jim. 

Handy ^jun. At last, thank Heaven, I have found 
somebody. But, sir Philip, were you indulging in soli- 
loquy .'* You seemed agitated, 
r Sir Philifi, No, sir ; rather indisposed. 

Handy ^ jun. Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to 
find you. Compared with this castle, the Cretan la- 
bvrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne 
gives me a clue, 1 shan't have the pleasure of seeing you 
kbove oace a-week. 



60 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Si7* Philifi, I beg your pardon, I have been an inaU 
tentive host. 

Handy ^jun. Oh, no ; but when a house is so devilish, 
large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep 
together ; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth 
feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do, I 
soon get heartily sick of his company ; whatever he 
may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me. 

Sir Philip. Where's your worthy father ? 

Handy ^ jun. As usual, full of contrivances that are 
impracticable, and improvements that are retrograde ; 
iV)rming, altogether, a whimsical instance of the confu- 
sion of arrangement, the delay of expedition, the in- 
commodiousness of accommodation, and the infernal 
trouble of endeavouring to save it : he has now a score 
or two of workmen about him, and intends pulling 
down some apartments in the east wing of the castle. 

Sir Philifi. Ah ! ruin I Within there ! Fly to sir 
Abel Handy ! Tell him to desist ! order his people, on 
the peril of their lives, to leave the castle instantly \ 
Away ! 

Handy J jun. Sir Philip Blandford, your conduct com- 
pels me to be serious. 

Sir Philifi, Oh, forbear ! forbear ! 

Handy ^jun. Excuse me, sir : an alliance, it seems, 
is intended between our families, founded on ambitior\ 
and interest. I wish it, sir, to be formed on a nobler 
basis, ingenuous friendship and mutual confidence. That; 
confidence being withheld, I must here pause ; for J 
should hesitate in calling that man father, who refuses 
me the name of friend. 

Sir Philifi, [Jside,] Ah ! how shall I act ? 

Handy ^jun. Is my demand unreasonable ? 

Sir Philifi, Strictly just. But oh ! you know not 
what you ask. Do you not pity me ? 

Handy ^jun, I do. 

Sir Philifi, Why then seek to change it into hate ? 

Handy, jun. Confidence seldom generates hate ; 
mistrust alwavs. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 61 

Sir Philifi, Most true. 

Handy, ju7i, 1 am not impelled by curiosity to ask 
yonr friendship. I scorn so mean a motive. Believe 
me, sir, the folly and levity of my character proceed 
merely from the effervescence of my heart ; you will 
find its substance warm, steady, and sincere. 

Sir Philifi. I believe it from my soul. Yes, you shall 
hear my story ; 1 will lay before your view the agony, 
with which this wretched bosom is loaded. 

Handy ^jun. I am proud of your confidence, and am 
prepared to receive it. 

Sir Philifi, Not here ; let me lead you to the eastern 
part of the castle, my young friend. Mark me : This 
IS no common trust I repose in you ; for I place my life 
in your hands. 

Handy ^jun. And the pledge I give for its security is, 
what alone gives value to life, my honour. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 

^ gloomy gallery in the castle ; in the centre a strongly 
barred door. The gallery hung with portraits. 

Henry discovered examining a particular fior trait ^ 
which occupies a conspicuous situation in the gallery, 

Henry, Whenever curiosity has led me to this galle- 
ry, that portrait has attracted my attention ; the fea- 
tures are peculiarly interesting. One of the house of 
Blandford — Blandford— my name — perhaps my father. 
To remain longer ignorant of my birth, I feel impossi- 
ble. There is a point when patience ceases to be a vir- 
tue. Hush ! I hear footsteps. Ah ! sir Philip and ano- 
ther in close conversation. Shall I avoid them I No. 
Shall I conceal myself, and observe them \ Curse on 
Uie base suggestion ! No. 



62 SPEED T^E PLOUGH. 

Enter Sir Philip and Handy, ^*i^;z. 

Sir Philifi, That chamber contains the mystery. 

Henry. [^AsideJ] Ah 1 

Sir Philip. {Turning round?^ Observe that portrait. 
[/Seem^ Henry, 5?ar^5.] Who's there ? 

Handy ^jun, {To Henry.] Sir, we wish to be pri- 
vate. 

Henry. My being here, sir, was merely the effect of 
accident. I scorn intrusion. \Boivs.'\ But the impor- 
tant words are spoken ; that chamber contains the 
mystery. \Aside, Exit, 

iTiz^zo?;/, 7^72. Who is that youth? 

Sir Philip. You there behold his father^ — my brother. 

L Weeps.'] I've not beheld that face these twenty years, 
et me again peruse its lineaments. {In an agony of 
grief.] Oh, God ! how I loved that man I 

Handy ^jun. Be composed. 

Sir Philip. I will endeavour. Now listen to my story. 

Handy ^jun. You rivet my attention. 

Sir Philip. While we were boys, my father died in- 
testate. So I, as elder born, became the sole possessor 
of his fortune ; but the moment the law gave me power, 
I divided, in equal portions, his large possessions, one of 
which I with joy presented to my brother, 

Ha?idy^ jun. It was noble. 
' Sir Philip. [ With suppressed agony.'] You shall 
now hear, sir, how I was rewarded. Chance placed in 
my view a young woman of superior personal charms; 
my heart was captivated. Fortune she possessed not ; 
but mine was ample. She blessed me by consenting to 
our union, and my brother approved my choice. 

Handy ^ jun. How enviable your situation ! 

Sir Philip. Oh ! {^Sighing deeply.] On the evening 
previous to my intended marriage, with a mind serene 
as the departing sun, whose morning beam was to light 
ine to happiness, I sauntered to a favourite tree, where, 
lover-like, I had marked the name of my destined 
bride, and, v/ith every nef-ve braced to the tone of exta- 



^ 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 63 

t 

cy, 1 was -wounding the bark with a deeper innpression 
of the name — when, oh, God ! 

Handy ^ jun. Pray proceed. 

Sir Philiji. When the loved offspring of my mother^, 
and the woman my soul adored ; the only two beings 
on earth, who had wound themselves round my heart 
by every tie dear to the soul of man, placed them- 
selves before me ; I heard him — even now the sound is 
in my ears, and drives me to oiadness — I heard him. 
breathe vows of love, which she answered with burning 
kisses. He pitied his poor brother, and told her he had 
prepared a vessel to bear her for ever from me. They* 
were about to depart, when the burning fever in my 
heart rushed upon my brain. Picture the young tiger, 
when first his savage nature rouses him to vengeance ; 
the knife was in my gripe ; I sprung upon them ; with 
one hand I tore the faithless woman from his damned 
embrace, and with the other — stabbed my brother te 
the heart. 

Handy ^ jun. The wretched woman 

Sir Philip, Was secretly conveyed here ; even to 
that chamber. She proved pregnant, and in giving 
birth to a son, paid the forfeit of her perjury by death. 
My task being ended, yours begins. 

Handy ^ jun. Mine ! 

Sir Fhilifi. Yes, that chamber contains evidence of 
my shame ; the fatal instrument, with other guilty* 
proofs, lie there concealed. Can you wonder I dread to 
visit the scene of horror ; can you wonder I implore 
you, in mercy, to save me from the task ? Oh I my 
friend, enter the chamber, bury in endless night those 
instruments of blood, and I will kneel and worship you. 

Handy ^ jun. 1 will. 

Sir Philip. [ Weeps."] Will you I \_Embrace8 him'] 
I am unused to kindness from man, and it affects rae. 
Oh ! can you press to your guiltless heart that blood- 
stained hand ! 



64 SPEED Tm: PLOUGH. 

Handy ^jun. Sir Philip, let men without faults con- 
demn j I must pitv you. 

\^Ex€unt Handy, jun. leading Sir Philip* 



ACT THE FIFTH, 

SCENE I* 

A wooded view of the country. 

Enter Susan Ashfield, who looks about with anxi^ 
etyt and then comes forward, 

Susan, I fear my conduct is very imprudent. Has 
not Mr. Handy told me he is engaged to another ? But 
'tis hard for the heart to forego, without one struggle, 
its only hope of happiness ; and, conscious of my ho- 
nour, what have I to fear > Perhaps he may repent of 
his unkindness to me ; at least Pll put his passion to the 
proof ; if he be worthy of my love, happiness is for ever 
mine ; if not, Pll tear him from my breast, though from 
the wound my life's blood should follow. Ah ! he 
comes.; 1 feel I am a coward, and my poor alarmed 
heart trembles at its approaching trial ; pardon me, 
female delicacy, if for a moment I seem to pass thy sa- 
cred limits. 

[^Retires uji the stage^ 

Enter Handy, jun. 

Handy ^jun. By Heavens! the misfortunes of Sit 
Philip Blandford weigh so heavily on my spirits, that — 
but confusion to melancholy ! I am come here to meet 
an angel, who will, in a moment, drive away the blue 
devils like mist before the sun. Let roe again read the 
dear words ; {^Reading a letter^ " I confess I love 
you still i" \Ki^%e$ the letter,"] but I dare not believe 



SPEED THEJ[^LOUGIi. 65 

their truth till her sweet lips confirm it. Ah ! she's 
there ! Susan, my angel ! a thousand thanks. A life of 
love can alone repay the joy your letter gave me. 

Susan. Do you not despise me ? 

Handy ^jun. No ; love you more than ever. 

Susan, Oh ! Robert, this is the very crisis of my fate. 
From this moment we meet with honour, or we meet 
no more. If we must part, perhaps, when you lead 
your happy bride to church, you may stumble over 
your Susan's grave. Well, be it so. 

Handy ^jun. Away with such sombre thoughts ! 

Susan, Tfll me my doom ; yet hold ; you are wild, 
impetuous ; you do not give your heart fair play ; there- 
fore promise me (perhaps 'tis the last favour I shall 
ask), that before you determine whether our love shall 
die or live with honour, you will remain here alone a 
few moments, and that you will give those moments to 
reflection. 

Handy J un. I do, I will. 

Susan. With a throbbing heart I will wait at a 
little distance May virtuous love and sacred honour 
direct his thoughts ! Inside. Exit, 

Handy ^jun. Yes, I will reflect, that I am the most 
fortunate fellow in England. She loves me still ; what 
is the consequence ? that love will triumph, that she 
will be mine, mine without the degradation of marriage ; 
love, pride, all gratified — how I shall be envied when I 
triumphantly pass the circles of fashion ! One will cry, 
'• Who is that angel ?" another, *' Happy fellow !" then 
Susan will smile around : will she smile ? oh yes ; she 
will be all gaiety ; mingle with the votaries of pleasure 
and — what ! Susan Ashfield the companion of licentious 
women ! Damnation ! no ? I wrong her ; she would 
not ; she would rather shun society ; she would be me- 
lancholy — melancholy ! \Sighs^ and looks at his watch.^ 
would the time were over I Pshaw ! I think of it too 
seriously. 'Tis false ; I do not. Should her virtue yield 
to love, would not remorse affect her health ? should I 
not behold that lovely form sicken and decay j perhaps 
f2 



6'6 ^EED T»E PLOUGH. 

die ? die ? then what am I ? a villain, loaded with her 
parents' curses and my own. Let me fly from the 
dreadful thought. But how fly from it ? [Calmly.'] By- 
placing before my imagination a picture of more ho» 
nourable lineaments. I make her my wife. Ah ! then 
she would smile on me ; there's raptut e in the thought 
instead of vice producing decay, I behold virtue em- 
blazoning beauty ; instead of Susan on the bed ^f death, 
I behold her giving to my hopes a dear pledge of our 
mutual love. She places it in my arms ; down her 
father's honest face runs a tear, but 'tis the tear of joy. 
Oh, this will be luxury ! paradise ! Come, Susan ! 
come, my love, my soul, my ivife, 

Enter Susan ; she at first hesitates \ on hearing the 
nvord wife, she springs into his ar?ns. 

Susan. Is it possible ? 

Handy, jun. Yes, those charms have conquered. 

Susan, Oh ! no ; do not so disgrace the victory you 
have gained ; 'tis your own virtue that has triumphed. 

Handy, jun. My Susan ! how true it is that fools 
alone are vicious. But let us fly to my father and ob« 
tain his consent. On recollection, that may not be quite 
so easy. His arrangements with sir Philip Blandford 
are — are — not mine, so there's an end of that. And 
Sir Philip, by misfortune, knows how to appreciate 
happiness. Then poor Miss Blandford ; upon my soul 
I feel for her. 

Susan, llronically."] Come, don't make yourself mi- 
serable. If my suspicions be true, she'll not break her 
heart for your loss. 

Handy, jun. Nay, don't say so ; she will be unhappy. 

Ash, [ Without.^ There he is. Dame, shall I shoot 
at un } 

Dame. No. 

Susan, My father's voice. 

Ash, Then FJl leather ua wi' my stick. 



SPEED TrfE PLOUGH, 67 

Enter Ashfield and Dame, 

Ash. What do thee do here with my Sue, eh ? 

Ha7idy^jun. With your Sue ! she's mine ; mine by a 
husband's i-ight. 

Ash Husband ! what, thee Sue's husband ? 

Handy .,jun. I soon shall be. 

Ash.'^iWt how tho' ? What I faith and troth? 
What ! like as I married Dame? 

Handy s jun Yes. 

Ash. What ! axed three times ! 

Handy^jiin. Yes; and from this moment I'll main- 
tain, that the real temple of love is a parisli church ; 
Cupid is a chubby curate ; his torch is the sexton's 
lantern ; and the according paean of the spheres is the 
profound nasal thorough bass of the clerk's A.men. 

Ash. Huzza I only to think now: my blessing ga 
with j^ou, my children. 

Dame. And mine. 

Ash. And Heaven's blessing too. Ecod, I believe 
now, as thy feyther zays, thee canst do every thing ! 

Handy ^ jun. No ; for there is one thing I cannot do, 
injure the innocence of a woman. 

Ash. Drabbit it I I shall walk in the road all day to 
zee Sue ride by in her own coach. 

Susan You must ride with me, father. 

Dame. I sav, Tuuimas, what will Mrs. Grundy say 
then ? 

Ash. I do hope thee will not be asham'd of thy fey- 
ther in laa, wool ye ? 

Handy ^ jun. No ; for then I must also he ashamed of 
myself, which 1 am resolved not to be again. 

Enter Sir Abel Handy. 

Sir Abel. Heyday, Bob ! why an't you gallanting 
your intended bride ? but you are never where you 
ought to be. 

Handy, jun- Nay, sir, by your own confession I am 
where I ought to be. 



m SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Si?* Abel, No ! you ought to be at the castle. Sir 
Phiiip is there, and miss Blandford is there, and lady 
Hardy is there, and therefore — 

Handy ^jun. Y(m are not there. In one word, I 
shai] wot marry uiiss Blandford. 

Sir AheL Indeed ! who told you so ? 

Handy ^jun. One who never lies; and, therefore, 
one I am determined to make a friend of, my con- 
science. 

Sir Abel. But zounds ! sir, what excuse have you ? 

Handh.jiin. {Taking Susan's hand.1 A very fair 
o^^e- sin is not she ? 

Sir Abel. Why yes, sir, I can't deny it ; but, 'sdeathj 
»ir,^this overturns my best plan I 

Handy ^jnn. No. bir; for a parent's best plan is his 
son's happiness, and thac it will establish. Come, 
give us your consent. Consider how we admire all your 
"wonderful inventions. 

Sir Abel. No, not my plough. Bob ; but 'tis a devilish 
clever plcugn. 

Handy., jun. I dare say it is. Come, sir, consent, 
and perhaps, in our turn, we may invent something 
that may please you. 

Sir Abel. He \ he ! he ! well; but hold ; what's the 
use of my consent withont my wife's, bless you ! I dare 
no more approve, without— 

Enter Gerald. 

Gerald. Health to this w^orthy company ! 
Sir Abel. The same io you, sir 
Handy, jun. Who have we here, I wonder ? 
Gerald. I wish to speak with sir Abel Handy- 
Sir Abel. I am the person. 
Gerald. You are married i^ 

Sir Abel Damn it ! he sees it in my face. Yes, I 
have that happiness. 

Gerald. Is it a happmess ? 

Sir Abel. To say the truth-— why do you ask ? 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 6^ 

Gerald. I want answers, not questions — and depend 
on't 'tis your interest to answer me. 

Handy jun.. An extraordinary fellow this \ 

Gerald. Would it break your heart to part with her J 

Sir Abd Who are you, sir, that— — 

Gerald. Answers— I want answers— would it break 
your heart, I ask ? 

Sir Abel. Why, not absolately, I hope. Time, and 
philosophy, and * 

Gerald. I understand— what sum of money wou'd yoa 
give to the man, who would dissolve your marriage 
contract ? 

Handy ^jun. He means something, sir. 

Sir Abel. Do you think so, Bob ? 

Gerald, Would you give a thousand pounds ? 

Sir Abel. No ! 

Handy ^jun. No ? 

Sir Abel. No ; I would not give one ; but I would 
give five thousand pounds. 

Gerald. Generously offered ; a bargain, I'll do it. 

Sir Abel. But an't you deceiving me ? 

Gerald. What should I gain by that ? 

Sir Abel. Tell me your name ? 

Gerald. Time will tell that. * 

Lady H. [ Without^ Sir Abel, where are you ? 

Gerald. That's your wife's voice— I know it. 

Sir Abel. So do I. 

Gerald. I'll wait without — cry, " hem !" when you 
want me. 

Sir Abel Then you need not go far — 

\^Exit Gerali>. 
I dare not believe it— I should go out of my wits ; and 
then if he fail, what a pickle I shall be in ! Here she is. 

Enter Lady Handy. 

Lady H. So, sir, I have found you at last ? 

Handy,, jun. My honoured mamma, you have just 
come in time to give your consent to my marriage with 
my sweet Susan, 



7-0 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Lady H, And do you imagine I will agree to such 
degradation ? 

Ash, Do'e, lady Nelly, do'e, be kind hearted to the 
young loviers. Remember how I used to let thee zit up 
all night a sweethearting. 

Lady H, Silence ! and have you dared to consent ? 

[7b Sir Abel, 

Sir Abel Oh, no, ray lady ! 

Handy, jiin. Sir, you had'better cry — " Hem-" 

Sir AheU I think it's time, Bob ; Hem I 

Handy ^jun. Hem ! 

Lady H. What do you mean by — Hem I 

Sir Abel. Only, my dear, something troublesome I 
want to get rid of; Hem ! 

Enter Gerald- 

There he is — never was so frightened in all my life. 
[■Gerald advances '^ 

Lady H [^Shrieks and exclaims.'] Gerald ! 

Gerald' Yes. 

Lady H. An't you dead, Gerald ? Twenty year^ 
away and not dead I 

Gerald. No, wife. 

Sir Abel. Wife ! did you say, wife.^ 

Gerald. Yes. 

Sir Abel. Say it again. 

Gerald. She is my wife. 

Sir Abel. Once more. 

GcTald. My lawful, wedded vvife. 

Sir Abel. Oh, my dear fellow ! Oh, my dear boy I 
Oh, my dear girl ! \_E7nbraces Gerald and the rest^ 
Oh, my dear! \Iiunning to Mrs. Gerald.] No; 
yes, now she an't my wife, 1 will — well, how will you 
have the five thousand I Will ycu have it in cash, or 
in bank notes, or stocks, or India bonds, or lands, or pa- 
tents, or — — 

Gerald. No ; land will do, I wish to kill my own 
XTiUtton. 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 71 

Sir Abel. Sir, you shall kill all the sheep in Hamp- 
shire. 

Gerald. Sir Abel, you have lost five thousand pounds, 
and with it, properly managed, an excellent wife, who, 
though I cannot condescend to take again as mine, 
you may depend on't shall never trouble \ ou. Come ; 
this way [Beckorivig to Mrs. Gerald.] — important 
events now call on me, and prevent my staying longer 
with this company. Sir Abel, we shall meet soon. 
Nay, come, you know I'm not used to trifle ; come, 
come — \_She reluctantly^ but obediently^ crosses the 
stage^ and runs off ; Gkrald follotos.'] 

Sir Mel. \^Imitat.ing.'\ Come, come. That's a 
damn'd clever fellow ! Joy, joy, my boy I Here, here, 
your hands. The first use I make of liberty, is to give 
happiness. I wish I had more imitators. Well, what 
will you do? \Walks about exultingly,'] Where will 
you go ? I'll go any where you like. Will you go to 
Bath, or Brighton, or Petersburgh, or JerusiUem, or 
Seringapatam ? all the same to me ; we single fellows, 
we rove about, nobody cares about us, we care for nobody. 

Handy ^jun. I must to the castle, father. 

Sir Abel. Have with you Bob. {_Singmg']. ^' Pll sip 
every flower. Pll change every hc^ur." {^Beckoning.'] 
Come, come. ']Exeunt 6ir Abkl, Handy, yw/z., and 
Susan. Susan kisses her hand to Ashfield arid 
Dame.] 

Ash. Bless her ! how nicely she do trip it away with 
the gentry ! 

Dame. And then, Tummas, think of the wedding. 

Ash. l^ReJiecting.'] I declare I shall be just the zame 
as ever. May be I may buy a smartish bridle, or a zil- 
ver backy stepper, or the like o' that. 

Dame. \Apart.'\ And then, when we come out of 
church, Mrs. Grundy will be standing about there — 

Ash. I shall shake hands agreeably wi' all my friends. 
\Apart.'\ 

Dame. \Apart,'\ Then I just look at her in this man- 
ner. 



72 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Ash. IJ/mrt.] How dost do, Peter ? Ah, Dick, glad 
to zee the e wi' all my zoul. [^Bows towards the centre 
cfthe stage,'] 

Dame. lA/iart.'} Then with a kind of half curtesy, I 
shall— [*S7/e advances to the centre alsoy and their 
fieads ?neet J 

Ash, What an wold fool thee be'st, Dame. Come 
alopg, and behave pratty, do'e. [^Exeurit. 

SCENE II. 

The same as actfourth^ scene third, 

JEnter HandYj^'m^z., ivith caution^ bearing a light ^ and 
a large key, 

Ha7idy^jun, Now to fulfil my promise with sir Phi- 
lip Blandtbrd — by---entering that chamber, and remov- 
ing-— 'Tis rather awful. I don't half like it, so iiehow, 
every thing is so cursedly still. What's that ? I thought 
I heard something — nor— why, 'sdeaih, I am not afraid 
,; — no — I'm quite su— su--^sure of that-~only every thing 
is so cursedly hush, and— \A Jiash of lights and a 
tremendous explosion takes fllace.'^ What the devil's - : 
that ? [Trembling.'] I swear thear some one-— lament*? 
Jng-^who's there ? 

Enter Sir Abel Handy, 

Father? [Trembling.'] 

Sir Abel [Trembling,] Bob! 

Handy,, jun. H .ve you seen any thing ? 

Sir Abel, Oh, my dear boy ! i 

Handy,, jun. Damn it, don't frighten oner— jMt 

Sir Abel, Such an accident ! Mercy on us ! ^% 

IIa?idy^jun,'^ptiikl 

Sir Abel I was mixing the ingredients of my grand 
Eubstitute for gunpowder, when somehow it blew up^ 
aind set the curtains on fire, and— » 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 73 

iJandij jiin. Curtains ! zounds, the room's in a blaze. 

Sir Abel Don't say so, Bob. 

Handy ^jun. What's to be done ? Where's yout 
famous preparation for extinguishing flames I 

Sir Mel. It is not mixed. 

Handy ^jun. Where's your fire escape ? 

Si.r Abel. It is not fixed. 

Handy ^jun. Where's your patent fire-engine ? 

Sir Abel. 'Tis on the road. 

Handy ^jiin. Well, you are never at a loss. 

Sir Abel. Never. 

Handy ^jun. What's to be done ? 

Sir Abel. I don't know. I say. Bob, I have it ; per*' 
haps it will go out of itself ! 

Handy .^jun. Go out I it increases every minute. 
Let us run for assistance. Let us alarm the family. 

{Exit. 

Sir Abel, Yes, dear me ! dear me ! 

Servant, [^Without.l Here, John! Thomas! some 
villain has set fire to the castle. If you catch the ras- 
cal, throw him into the flames. 

Sir Abel runs cff\ and the alarm bell rings, 

SCENE lit. 

The garden of the Castle. The ejects of the fire ihonvn 
on the foliage and scenery. 

Enter Henry, meeting Evergreen. 

Henry. The castle in flames ! Wliat occasioned it ? 
Everg. Alas ! I know not ! 
Henry. Are the family in safety ^ 
Everg. Sir Philip is. 
Henry. And his daughter ? 

Everg. Poor lady ! I just now beheld her looking 
with agony from that Vt'indow ? 
Henry. Ah I Emma in danger ! Fare\\'e! ! 



r4 SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

Everg, \_Holdmg him] Are you mad ! the great 
staircase is in flumes. ^ 

Henry, I care not ! Should we meet no more, tell 
sir Philip, I died for his daughter ! 

Everg, Yet reflect. 

Henry. Old mair, do not cling to me thus — 'Sdeath ! 
men will encounter peril to ruin a woman, and shall I 
hesicate when it is to save one ? [^Exit» 

Everg, Brave, generous boy I Heaven preserve 
th^e ! 

Enter Sir Philip Blandfoui>. 

Sir Philifi. Emma, my child, where art thou ? 

Everg. I fear, sir, the castle will be destroyed. 

Sir Fhilifi. My child ! my child I where is she ? 
speak ! 

Everg. Alas I she remains in the castle ! 

Sir Philifi. Ah ! then will I die with her I [^Going. 

Everg. Hold, dear master J If human power can 
preserv^e her, she is safe. The bravest, noblest of men 
has flcwn to her assistance. * * 

Sir Philip. Heaven reward hira with its choicest 
blessings ! 

Everg. 'Tis Henry. 

Sir Philip. Henry ! Heaven will reward hira, I 
will reward him ! 

Everg. Then be happy ! Look, sir I 

Sir Philip, Ah I dare I trust my eyes! 

Everg. He bears her safe in his arms.* 

Sir Philip, Bountiful Creator, accept my thanks f 

Enter Henry, bearing Emma in his arms, 

Henry. There is your daughter. 

Sir Philip, My child I my Emma, revive ! 

Hem^i. \_Jpart.'\ Aye I now to unfold the mystery. 
The avenue to the eastern wing is still passable ; the 
chamber not yet in fla^mes : the present moment lost^ 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. V^ 

\ 

! and all is closed for ever. I will be satisfied, or pe- 
rish. {Exit. 
Miss B, Am I restored to my dear father's arms ? 
Sir Philip. Yes, only blessing of my life ! In future 
I thy wishes shall be mine ; thy happiness my joy. 

Enter Hakdy^juti. and Susan. 

li 

r Handij^jun. My dear friend safe! and the lovel/ 

I Emma in his arms ! Then let the bonfire blaze. 

,i ^Sir Philip. But, Emma, where is your Henry? I 

L wish to be just to him, I wish to thank him. 

; Miss B. He has withdrawn to avoid our gratitude. 

i Everg. No ; he again rushed into the castle, ex- 

claiming, " I will penetrate - that chamber, or perish in 

the attempt." 

Sir Philip, Then all is discovered. 

Handy ^jun. Hush, for Heaven's sake collect your- 

?Qlfl 

Enter Henry, i7i great agitation. 

Miss B, Ah ! [Shrieks. 1 Thank Heaven, he's safe I 
What urged you> Henry, again to venture into the 
castle ? 

Henry, Fate ! the desperate attempt of a desperate 
man I 

Sir Philip. Ah! 

Henry. Yes ; the mystery is developed. In vain th6 
massy bars, cemented with their cankerous rust, op- 
posed my entrance ; in vain the heated suffocating 
damps enveloped me ; in vain the hungry flames flashed 
their vengeance round me ! What could oppose a man 
struggling to know his fate I I forced the doors, a fire- 
brand was my guide, and among many evidences of 
blood and guilt, 1 found — these ! [Produces a knife and 
bloody cloth.'] 

Sir Philip. [Starts nvith horror^ then^ with solem- 
nity.'] It is accomplished ! Just Heaven, I bend to thy 



rs SPEED THE PLOUGH. 

decree ! Blood must be paid by blood ! Henry, that 
knife, aimed by this fatal hand, murdered thy father I 

Henry. Ah ! {Grasfung the knife.'] 

Miss B, \^placi72g herself between him and her fa* 
ther,'] Henr) ! [^He drops his hand,] Oh, believe him 
nor ! 'Twas n^adness ! I've heard him talk thus wildly 
in his dreams! We are all friends'. None will repeat 
his words ; I'm sure none will! My heart will break* 
Oh Henry ! will you destroy my father? 

Henry. Would I were in my grave 1 

Enter Gerald. 

Sir PhiUfu Ah, Gerald here ! How vain conceal- 
ment 1 Well, come you to give evidence of my shame I 

Gerald. I come to announce one, who for many 
years has watched each action of your life. 

Sir Fhiliii. Who? 

Gerald' Morrington. 

Sir Philifi, I shall then behold the man who has s^ 
long avoicted me— — 

Gerald. But ever has been near you ; he is here. 

Enter Morrington, wrapped upi in his cloak. 

Sir Philip, Well, behold your victim in his last 

Stage of human wretchedness ! Come you to insult mef^ 

[MoRRiJJGTON clasps hls hands together^ and 

hides hisfacci 
Ah ! can even you pity me I Speak ! still silent ? still 
mysterious ? Well let me employ what remains of life, 
in thinkiiig of hereafter. \^Addressing Heaven.'] Oh, 
ipy brother ! we soon shall meet agam. And let me 
hope, that, stripped of those passions which make men 
devils, I may receive the heavenly balm of thy forgive- 
ness, as I, from my inmost soul, do pardon thee. 

[Morrington becomes coiivulsed with agO' 
ny, and falls into Gerald's arms.] 
Ah I What meaus that agony \ He faints ! give him 
air! 



SPEED THE PLOUGH. 77 

\_They throw open his cloak and hat."] 
[^Starts,'] Angels of mercy ! my brother ! 'tis he ! he 
lives 1 lienry. support your father ! 

Henry, [Running to MoR ring TON.] Ah, my fa- 
ther ! he revives ! 

Sir Philiju Hush ! 

[MoR KINGTON recovers ; seeing- his dro^ 
ther^ covers his face with shame^ then 
falls at his feet ^ 

Mor, Crawling in the dust, behold a repentant 
wretch ! 

Sir Philifi, S^lndignantly P^ My brother, Morrington \ 

Mor. Turn not away ; in mercy- hear me ? 

Sir Philiji. Speak! 

Mor, After the dreadful hour that parted us, ago* 
fiized with remorse, I was about to punish home what 
your arm had left unaccomplished ; when some angel 
whispered — '' Punishment is life, not death ; live and. 
fttone I" 

Sir PhiHfu Oh ! go on \ 

Mor, I flew to you ; I found you surrounded by 
sharpers. What was to be done ? I became Morring- 
ton ! littered with villains I practised the arts of devils! 
braved the assassin's steel ! possessed myself of youc 
large estates ! lived hateful to myself, detested by man- 
kind ! to do what ? to save an injured brother from des- 
truction, and lay his fortunes at his feet ! \_Plac€& 
parchments before Sir Philip.] 

Sir Philip. Ah .' is it possible ^ 

Mor. Oh, is that atonement ? No ; by me you first 
beheld her mother ! 'Twas I that gave her fortune ! Is 
that atonement 1 No ; but my Henry has saved that 
angel's life. Kneel with me, my boy ; lift up thy inno- 
cent hands with those of thy guilty father, and beg for 
mercy from that injured saint. [Henry kneels with 
him.'] 

Sir Philip. O God ! How infinite are thy mercies ! 

Jlenry, forgive me ; Emma, plead for me 

There — there. [Joining their hands. 1 



tS SPEED THE PLOUGH^ 

Henry, But my father 

Sir Philifi, {Jpfiroachingj] Charles I 
Mor, Philip I 

Sir Phili/i, Brother, I forgive thee. 
Mor, Then let rae die — Ablest, most Slest ! 
Sir Philifi. No, no. [^Striking his breast,'] Here, 1 
want thee here. Raise him to my heart. 

\They raise Morrington ; in the effort 
to embrace^ he falls into their arms ex^ 
hausted."] 
Again ! [ They sink into each other*8 arms,^ 

Handy, jun. {^Comes for ward J\ If forgiveness be an 
attribute which ennobles our nature, may we not hope 
Co find pardon for our errors— /^er^p ? 



^Thc curtainfallsji. 






EPILOGUE, 

WRITTEN By 

MILES PETIT AJ^'DREWS, ESQ. 

SPOKEN BY MR. FAWCETT. 



SO here I am, once more to bear a bob. 

And for our author do a friendly job ; 

Perhaps you don't know how to clap a play ; 

Mind me : hand rattle hand, thus ; [Claps his hands. 1 that's^ 

the way ! 
No doubt you think, though second sure to none, 
I^n rather sanguine about number one/ 
Ask all the world, who every thing would try. 
And all the world will answer^ I ! I ! I ! 
Your sprightly damsels seeking active fame. 
Will rival schoolboys in each schoolboy game ; 
Give 'em but rope enough, they'll shine in skipping ! 
While many a lucky rogue may catch them tripping ^ 
Others, with beauteous arm and lovely shoulder^ 
Conspicuous to each acciu-ate beholder. 
Vaulting on toe, with tambourine and bells. 
Surpass the heroine of Sadler's Wells ! 

Nor less our beaux excite our admiration ; 
Their shoulders, too, are worthy observation ; 
Not bare, indeed, but cas'd in tenfold stuffing. 
They need not, if they like not, feel a cuffing. 
Nay, what's more frequent, and preserves as muchy, 
TUey save the pressure of a bailiff's touchy 



EPILOGUE. 

Stuffing's a charm attracts us every minute ; 
E'en female bosoms find protection in it ; 
Expos'd to open charms and powerful flattery, 
Why not g-ain conquest by a well-mask'd battery ! 

But truce to satire : Folly's lost in doubt. 
And this age enters e'er that age goes out ; 
None know, so none to blame can find pretext. 
Whether we sin last century or the next. 
'* You're a buse man!" cries wealthless madam Dump^ 
To her fond spouse who took her by the lump, 
"' To hide a wench last week behind the screen V 
" Last week, my love ! Last century you mean.'"' 
^' Sure !'* says miss Lydia Lank, an ancient maid, 
*' You will not countenance that painted jade : 
*' I hate to name tlie odious word miscarried; 
^' And yet the wanted minx was never mai'ried !" 
*•' Thai's an old story I" /* Old ! two months or so." 
" Two months ! you di-eam ! a century ago !" 

" Dam'me !" cries Dash, " each age has its beginning!** 
His chin quite buried in five rounds of linen ; 
*^ Think you we drive through life with too much haste I 
*' 'Tis neck or nothing with us lads of taste !" 
** Your taste !*' cries Dad ; " /fear your credit shocks, 
^^ The rise of cra^vats proves the fall oi^tcc^s: 
*^ Save then to-day, to-morrow we'll want some." 
*' To-morrow, Squaretoes ! that's an age to come 1^' 

Since then from changeful Time's uncertain state, 
Our very foibles now are out of date ; 
Let the bard's faults find shelter on the stage. 
And let his labours live at least an age. 

Cheer with your smiles the poet's growing joy : 
A scanty harvest must his hopes destroy : 
To brighten future prospects, all should now". 
With heart and hand, uliite to Speed, the Plough ' 



I nun Hill Hill liin inn iiin inn mu imi inn ■"" ■■" i"' | 
014 528 460 



